Gospel Story Finder

“Sickness can do a lot of good things,” says Michael, who is suffering from kidney failure. Because his illness has increased his gratitude for the gospel, he says, “it is a good trial.”
I was born in Ethiopia in 1942 and went to Poland to study in 1965. In 1991, I met the missionaries and joined the Church. I have served as a branch president for three and a half years. I served as a counselor in the mission presidency for 12 years. I was a branch president again and then a district president. Then I became sick with kidney failure.
Now I can do only a few things in the Church. I try to attend on Sundays.
At first I was angry.
“Why me?” I prayed. “I have served you, Lord.” After a while, I understood. The scriptures say, “He that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed” (D&C 42:48).
This verse says we will be healed if we’re not meant to die.
Church members keep praying for me, but my health is getting worse. They think their prayers are not heard, but they are heard because they become better people and because I feel the love they show to me.
Even if I was healthy, how much time would be left at my age? Still, a lot is before me.
I like to go to the scriptures and find heroes who help me. When I was healthy and serving, I liked to follow Nephi, but now many times I think of Job. He was a good man, and he suffered too. There is always hope in the gospel.
In a city like Bydgoszcz, if I want to visit the mayor, I’ll not have a chance because I am too small for that. But through the gospel, the door is always open to call on God. That is why I love my church.
I have the Church. I have a way of contacting God through prayer, through fasting, through all the things we do. What else do I need?
Sometimes I say to myself, “Maybe that’s why I am sick—so that I could understand what a great thing I am in, what a great cause this is.”
I see my wife, Renata, become sad because I am sick. I wouldn’t like that to happen, but sorrow is a by-product of love. If she didn’t love, she wouldn’t be sorry. Love helps you feel that you are not alone and that there are people who care.
To die is nothing. Everybody will die. It depends on how we approach death. I know that God lives. He loves us all—me too. That’s what I can say.
Michael’s illness has been a difficult trial for his wife, Renata. “I see my wife become sad because I am sick,” he says. “But sorrow is a by-product of love. Love helps you feel that you are not alone and that there are people who care.”
Despite the limitations caused by his illness, Michael still finds ways to serve and uplift those around him.
Michael finds hope and direction in the scriptures. When he was healthy and serving, he admired Nephi. “But now many times I think of Job,” he says. “He was a good man, and he suffered too.”

I was in another country not long ago holding a fireside for young adults. During the question-and-answer portion of the meeting, a young brother raised his hand and asked when the Church would provide more financial assistance for young adults to help them become self-reliant. I thought about this for a moment and then felt impressed to ask him if he had served a mission. He replied that he had. I asked him if he had learned to set goals while on his mission, to plan, to exercise faith, and to work diligently. He was good-natured about it and smiled as he replied that he had in fact learned those life skills. I then said to him, “You are an agent, not an object. You have the ability to act and to do whatever it is that you choose to do. You have been taught everything that you need to be successful in life. Now it is up to you to go forward in faith and to act, rather than to sit back and wait to be acted upon.” I hoped that he felt my love for him and that somehow this exchange helped him to reorient his vision for himself.

As we talked about it and as I looked at that beautiful little baby, I thought of last summer. Ruby and I were up in Idaho for a short visit, and we met some people from Mountain Home, Idaho, the Goodrich family. Sister Goodrich had come to see us and had brought her daughter Chelsea with her. In part of the conversation that we were having, Sister Goodrich said Chelsea had memorized the proclamation on the family.

To Chelsea, who is now 15 years old, I said, “Chelsea, is that right?”

She said, “Yes.”

I said, “How long did it take you to do that?”

She said, “When we were young my mother started a program in our house to help us memorize. We would memorize scripture passages and sacrament meeting songs and other types of things that would be helpful to us. So we learned how to memorize, and it became easier for us.”

I said, “Then you can give it all?”

She said, “Yes, I can give it all.”

I said, “You learned that when you were 12 years old; you’re now 15. Pretty soon you’ll start dating. Tell me about it. What has it done for you?”

Chelsea said, “As I think of the statements in that proclamation, and as I understand more of our responsibility as a family and our responsibility for the way we live and the way we should conduct our lives, the proclamation becomes a new guideline for me. As I associate with other people and when I start dating, I can think of those phrases and those sentences in the proclamation on the family. It will give me a yardstick which will help guide me. It will give me the strength that I need.”

Working with horses also taught me to be patient and never to give up. Progress comes a little at a time. Once I had a colt named Planchet. Someone said, “That horse is weak. He will never be worth anything.” But someone else told me if I would be patient and exercise my colt’s muscles, he would someday be a good horse. I fed Planchet and took care of him and loved him. For one whole year, I walked him to strengthen his muscles. I worked and worked with him. And, sure enough, this weak colt won the Brazilian championship in a three-day competition.

Renewed commitment is evident everywhere. In Humacao, branch president Angel Rodríquez-Negrón says, “We want to make the Humacao Branch as close to heaven as possible. This desire to succeed is in the hearts and minds of the people. We need to follow the handbook. It’s all there.”
Members of this small but enthusiastic branch planned an open house featuring nine booths, each showing a different facet of the gospel. Only one visitor came, but members were not discouraged.
“We grew so much by reviewing the basic doctrine and we had so much fun that it really drew us together,” says Maritza Reyes. “We kept our good attitude, and we used our booths later at our branch picnic, where many people saw them.”

I really enjoy school and the time I get to spend with my friends. Sometimes I think it would be nice to have even more friends to play with.
I got an invitation to a friend’s birthday party. The only bad thing about that was that it was on a Sunday. I told my friend that I go to church on that day. I decided to take him his birthday present on Monday.
I know that Heavenly Father wants me to spend the Sabbath Day with my family, doing activities that are going to help me know more about the gospel and that will teach me how to be a better example to my little brother.
I am trying to be like Jesus Christ.

I will never forget the day I met the missionaries. As they talked to me about the gospel and the plan of salvation, I felt that their message was something that had been missing in my life. We started to meet, and I knew the messages they shared were true. All was not easy for me, however. At that time my father was an alcoholic, and I was scared that I would be in a lot of trouble if he found out I believed the Church is true.
After meeting with the missionaries for a few weeks, I knew I needed to be baptized. The missionaries helped me explain to my father that I was planning on being baptized. My father disagreed with my desire to join the Church, and while he did not forbid me from being baptized, he stated that he did not understand the decision I was making. I decided to have faith and hope for a miracle that my dad’s perspective would change.
On the day of my baptism, I kept wishing that my father would be there, even though I knew he disapproved of my decision. Imagine my surprise when the first person I saw after coming out of the waters of baptism was my dad! My dad told me that a feeling had told him he should come and that he was now experiencing a new feeling that he could not explain. He wanted to know more.
I began to pray to the Lord that my father would open up his heart to the teachings of the gospel. My dad’s lifestyle began to change, and as it did he came to know for himself the Church is true. A month after my own baptism, my father also joined the Church. We have both served faithfully in the Church ever since. I’m thankful the gospel changed my life and my family, and I know that families can be forever.

One autumn day during my shift as a worker in the Salt Lake Temple, a young man and his friends, clearly not dressed for temple worship, arrived.
“We’re here to see the temple,” the young man said.
“Do you have a recommend?” I asked.
The young man thought for a moment. Then he said, “Yes. My mother has a Mormon friend in Minnesota. She recommended that we come see the temple.”
I felt impressed to pull the young people aside and talk to them. The young man’s name was Lars. I explained to him that not only could he come to the temple but also that Heavenly Father wanted him to come. I told Lars that he first had to prepare, and I explained how.
The following spring, Lars wrote me a letter, thanking me for explaining the real meaning of a temple recommend. “I did learn more about a temple recommend,” he wrote. “Actually, I was baptized and received a recommend of my own last January!” My eyes filled with tears as I looked at the photograph he had enclosed of himself in his white baptismal clothes and of the missionaries who had taught him.
My journey back to the temple was remarkable, and learning of Lars’s journey was a wonderful blessing that reminded me how we can all touch lives for good.

Tetsuko lived by a high mountain in Japan. She was going to school for the first time. Excited, she dressed quickly in her new school uniform. Then she began to feel sick, and she didn’t feel like eating breakfast.
Okasan (Mother) asked, “Do you feel sick, Tetsuko?”
“Yes. My stomach hurts, and I don’t think I will be able to go to school today.” She started to cry.
Otosan (Father) took her hand in his and said, “I think I know what might be wrong with you. This is your first day of school. You will be away from home all day, and you don’t know what to expect. I had the same feeling when I started my job. Would you like me to give you a special father’s blessing?”
Tetsuko nodded.
Otosan placed his hands upon her head and gave her a blessing. He thanked Heavenly Father for her and for the happiness she brought them. He blessed her to feel better, to not be afraid, and to feel peace in her heart.
Tetsuko left for school. That afternoon she ran into the house, calling “Okasan! Okasan! I’m home. It was fun at school. My teacher is nice, and I met some new friends.”
Her mother pulled her close and said, “I’m happy you had such a good day and that Otosan was able to give you a special blessing.”

When I was getting ready to graduate from high school, my friend and I wanted to go to the senior all-night party. It seemed like everybody else was going, so we asked his father, who was our stake president, if we could go.

He said, “Absolutely not. The Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight.” Now, he knows the Holy Ghost doesn’t go to bed at midnight, but he also knows what tends to happen after midnight. Then he said something I will never forget: “Find something positive to do that you’ll be able to think of in years to come.”

We put our heads together and organized a progressive dinner. We went from one house to the next and had a wonderful evening. With planning and a well-placed suggestion from a caring priesthood leader, we were able to stay in holy places while our friends were in jeopardy of being subject to temptations.

Some 30 years ago, while working in the corporate world, some business associates and I were passing through O’Hare Airport in Chicago, Illinois. One of these men had just sold his company for tens of millions of dollars—in other words, he was not poor.
As we were passing a newspaper vending machine, this individual put a quarter in the machine, opened the door to the stack of papers inside the machine, and began dispensing unpaid-for newspapers to each of us. When he handed me a newspaper, I put a quarter in the machine and, trying not to offend but to make a point, jokingly said, “Jim, for 25 cents I can maintain my integrity. A dollar, questionable, but 25 cents—no, not for 25 cents.” You see, I remembered well the experience of three towels and a broken-down 1941 Hudson. A few minutes later we passed the same newspaper vending machine. I noticed that Jim had broken away from our group and was stuffing quarters in the vending machine. I tell you this incident not to portray myself as an unusual example of honesty, but only to emphasize the lessons of three towels and a 25-cent newspaper.

As part of its mission to care for families, LDS Social Services had arranged with Church members in the United States to care for about 550 Vietnamese refugees, most of whom were not members of the Church. Lien and her family were sponsored by Philip Flammer, a professor at Brigham Young University, and his wife, Mildred. They helped the family relocate from California to Provo, Utah.
At first, Lien struggled to find work. Philip took her to a thrift store to apply for a janitorial position. But during the interview, the manager tore her high school diploma in half and told her, “This does not apply here.”
She soon found temporary work picking cherries at a nearby orchard. She then found work as a seamstress and added to her income by baking wedding cakes. With help from Philip, she also earned money by typing reports for BYU students.
Amid her family’s hardships, Lien remained faithful to the Lord. She taught her children about the power of prayer, knowing it could carry them through their ordeals.

My testimony that this is the true Church began in my childhood. One of my earliest memories is of a conference meeting. A man was speaking whom I did not know. I knew only that he was someone sent to our little district in the mission field by someone who held the priesthood. I do not know what he said. But I received a powerful, certain witness before I was eight, even before I was baptized, that I was hearing a servant of God in the true Church of Jesus Christ.
In my teen years, I felt the power of priesthood quorums and of a loving bishop. I still remember and can feel the assurances that came when I sat in a priests quorum next to a bishop and knew that he had the keys of a true judge in Israel.
That same witness came early in my life on two Sundays. In each case I was present on the day that a stake was organized. Seemingly ordinary men whom I knew well were called as stake presidents. I raised my hand on those days and had a witness come to me that God had called His servants and that I would be blessed by their service and for sustaining them. I have felt that same miracle countless times across the Church.
I saw that those stake presidents were lifted up to their callings. I have seen the same miracle in the service of President Monson as he received the call to preside as the prophet and President of the Church and to exercise all the keys of the priesthood in the earth. Revelation and inspiration have come to him in my presence, which confirms to me that God is honoring those keys. I am an eyewitness.
I bear you my solemn witness that this is the true and living Church of Jesus Christ. Heavenly Father will answer your fervent prayers to know that for yourself.

One day at school my very good friend came up to me and handed me an envelope. Inside was an invitation to her birthday party! I couldn’t wait to go. The card said, “We will be watching a movie!”
At lunch I asked her what movie we would be watching. She told me the name of the film, and I answered that I wasn’t allowed to watch R-rated movies. She told me she would rent something else for me. But when the day of the party came, my friend had forgotten a movie for me to watch. So, she and my friends tried to talk me into watching the movie. Instead of watching it with them, I went into her little sister’s room and watched a G-rated movie and really enjoyed myself.

Fourteen years have passed since the day Latter-day Saint branches in Viet Nam were disbanded and I began my long struggle to leave my beloved homeland.
I was born 27 December 1923 in Hue, the ancient capital and royal city of Viet Nam. My family lived in a large palace because I am descended from the royal Vietnamese family. My ancestors ruled Viet Nam for about 300 years.
My last name, Cong Ton Nu, is actually a title meaning countess. My first name, Tuong-Vy, means rose. My father, Huong-de, was prime minister to the last king, Bao Dai, who ruled until 1945. Huong-de is also a title. If you showed it or my name to a Vietnamese, he would know right away that we are descendants of the royal family.
When I was twenty years old, I graduated from Viet-anh Lyceum in Hue. A few months later, I married Le-Van Luong, one of my high school teachers. We had a very good life. The wars did not affect us much. I stayed home and took care of our four daughters and two sons while my husband taught school. We had plenty of money and employed servants to help us. We moved to Saigon in 1950.
Unfortunately, my husband and I divorced in 1965. After that, I had to work, so I became a high school teacher. I eventually started to manage and then own an information center and travel agency.
In 1967, Robert Lewis, a member of the Church, came to my office. He wanted a Church pamphlet, The Testimony of Joseph Smith, translated into Vietnamese, so I took it to a translator. When he finished, I gave the translation to Brother Lewis. He took it to church for the Vietnamese members to read. But they did not like it; it did not mean anything to them. Brother Lewis brought it back to me, and when the translator said he couldn’t do any better, I decided to try myself. I was not very good at speaking English and worried about how to translate it. I took the pamphlet home and stayed up all night reading it. As I read, something strange happened to me. It was as if someone unseen was helping me understand. The first translator translated word for word; but as I finally understood part of the testimony, I put it aside and wrote the translation in my own words. I translated according to the thoughts and feelings that were impressed upon me. I did not know it at the time, but I was translating by the Spirit.
I gave the translation to Brother Lewis and said that I would refund his money if he didn’t like it. But the members read it and said they understood what it meant. They said, “It communicates feelings—it affects us.”
Brother Lewis told me he would bring some more material to translate. So then I translated four or five pamphlets. They were all accepted.
As I worked on those pamphlets, I began to love the Church and the doctrines and teachings of the gospel. I asked Brother Lewis to send some missionaries to me. He sent two American servicemen. They taught me for three months, and I was baptized. My oldest son, Le Phuc-Hung, was also baptized a few months later.
In the early 1970s, I was extended a call to translate the Book of Mormon. I wondered how I would be able to do this because I was still manager of the travel agency, my office was noisy, it was on the busiest street in Saigon, and I had to supervise a large staff. I had a big house, but my six children and their families lived there. So I could neither translate at my office nor my home. I was also serving as Relief Society president in my branch. I needed a private place where I could think and study. I prayed to my Heavenly Father, “How can I find the time and the place to translate this book and still earn a living?”
Soon after, my son Le Viet Hung, who had just joined the military, came to me early one morning. To my great surprise, he gave me a gift of 400,000 piasters that the had just won in a government contest. When I got the money, I gathered my children and told them, “I will give you my home and all that I own. I will leave my job, take a portion of the contest money, and buy some land in a remote area.”
My children agreed—the property was worth about six million piasters—and I found a quiet place about one acre in size, fifteen kilometers from Saigon. There I built a cottage and planted a garden.
In my new home I prayed, “How can I translate; my English is not good enough?” I secluded myself and studied extensively. I read many books on the life of the Savior, and, because my French was better than my English, I studied a French Book of Mormon. I read the English Book of Mormon many times. When I came to sections that I found difficult to translate, I would often dream about them and see where I could find help in other books I owned. And as I translated, I pondered. I forgot myself. It was almost as if someone else was helping me write. I know that Heavenly Father blessed me that the translation might be a good one—many have studied it and said so. It took me two years to finish.
After the Book of Mormon, I translated the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price. Then, in 1975, I started on some more books but was not able to finish because North Viet Nam took over South Viet Nam.
A few weeks before the North Vietnamese came, the full-time missionaries left, taking with them my translation of the Book of Mormon which was printed in Salt Lake City, and my work on the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price. Both of these latter translations served as a major source for the final printed versions. But it was to be many years before I had the opportunity to see them. I was asked to move into the chapel to take care of it, but a week later, I received a call from the American embassy giving instructions on when and where the Vietnamese members could leave the country. I was given the privilege of being the first to board the airplane taking us to freedom. I felt humble and grateful, but my heart was confused. Most Vietnamese are attached to their motherland. The idea of leaving home forever hurt so much that many could not think of leaving. My Heavenly Father had given me great blessings in that land, so I felt loyal to it and decided to stay.
When the North Vietnamese took over Saigon, they imprisoned all South Viet Nam’s government officials and military, including Brother The, the president of our branch, and all my brothers, a son, and a son-in-law. At the end of 1975, they confiscated my property. They also wanted to put me in jail because of my past contact with Americans.
And so I tried to escape from Viet Nam. I went to an island, Phu-Quoc, close to Cambodia. I took all my scriptures, translations, and books and buried them in the beach; then I bought a boat preparing to escape. But I was not successful. The police put me in prison for three days, but because I was an old woman, they let me go. I was not able to go back to get the books and translations. They remain there to this day.
For five years I stayed close to the coast and used all my resources and strength trying to escape. I used a different name each time I tried because people would recognize my last name. I tried many different disguises—a merchant, a nun, a peddler.
One attempt I remember well. About eighty men, women, and children escaped in a small boat. Within two days, we reached international waters, but the boat’s engine failed. We drifted for fifteen days. We ran out of food and drinking water and just lay motionless on the boat’s deck awaiting death.
Finally we heard the noise of a ship’s engine. We waved for help. It was a ship from Europe. After giving us food and water, they towed our boat back to Vung-Tau harbor and the North Vietnamese. We wept openly. Many men, unable to accept such a fate, jumped into the sea and sank beneath the waves. The police imprisoned us. Luckily, I spent only a few months in jail.
On my last attempt in 1981, I was with about twenty people, waiting at the Vung-Tau beach at night for a boat. The security guards saw us and gave chase. Two women and I began to climb a hill fearfully. After about an hour, we came to a small deserted enclosure and remained there until morning.
When the sun rose, we could see we were in a cave that had been converted into a shelter complete with doors that were still in good condition. The floor was concrete, and the cave contained some used cooking utensils and pieces of broken furniture. We felt hungry, so we went out to search for food. To our surprise, we found that we were in a large, deserted orchard with trees filled with mangoes, apples, and other fruits. It was a still, quiet place, with a small pagoda nearby.
In the evening, the two women prepared to leave, but I was so weary from the fears of the past years and so despairing that I didn’t want to move anymore. I chose to stay.
The first night alone, I became afraid of my lonely, deserted situation. I left the cave and knelt down on a rock to pray. Through my tears and my loneliness, I asked Father in Heaven to give me the courage and strength to survive this ordeal. A peace and calm came upon me, and I knew that I could remain there.
This is my testimony of prayer. Whenever I have been upset or have struggled with particular challenges, I have prayed. Heavenly Father always hears and answers my prayers. He always listens to his children.
My life as a hermit began. Shaving my head, I disguised myself as an old, poor Buddhist nun. Occasionally, I went to the market down the hill to exchange ripened fruit for things I needed. I learned that the cave was called the Tiger Den—because a tiger used to live there before the villagers drove it out and made the cave into a shelter.
Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
Four years passed by slowly. I pondered and prayed. I wrote songs, poems, and books and tended a garden. No one knew who I was. Two of my children were still in Viet Nam, and I was able to send them letters. But I could not receive any—I didn’t have an address. Besides, I could not visit or receive visits from anyone because I felt I would bring trouble to them.
One morning, after working very hard in the garden, I felt unusually tired and decided to go to the hospital. In the office, I put my identification card on the desk; it was the only document I had with my real name on it. A woman close by saw it and asked, “Are you Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy?”
I backed away and said, “Why do you ask?” She gestured for me to follow her to where she had her bag. From it she took out a letter, removed one page and allowed me to read this paragraph: “My dear Sister Thuy, you should try to find Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy, who we think is living somewhere near the Vung-Tau seashore. The Church of Jesus Christ at Salt Lake City wants to contact her. Signed Quoc-Phong.”
When I saw the name of the Church, I burst into tears. Through my new-found friend, I was able to contact the remaining members in Saigon. It was 1985, ten years since I had lost contact with the Church.
Christmas that year was a memorable one. I took the bus to Saigon, where the members met together for the first time in ten years in Viet Nam. The meeting was in a park. There were nearly one hundred people there. We had ice cream and cake. Later, at our table, brethren holding the priesthood broke bread and poured water into small glasses for the sacrament. We bowed our heads and prayed silently. Our joy was full.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.
Although I am now in the United States, the memory of my experiences in Viet Nam stays with me. I pray that our Lord will bless all my brothers and sisters who remain in Viet Nam. I know by personal experience that nothing can destroy the gospel our Heavenly Father has given us.

I shuddered, remembering that first day I had asked my parents’ permission to be baptized. They knew I had been studying with the Mormons and going to their meetings, but I don’t think they had admitted to themselves how serious I really was. My father is a quiet man, and kind. He thought about it for a long time before he replied. But my mother reacted immediately. Her face went pale and her mouth hard and tight.

“Absolutely not, Michelle,” she said, and her voice sounded cold and deeply angry. “It is absolutely out of the question, so don’t mention it again.”

“But why?” I demanded. “Why?”

“Why?” she screamed back, her eyes blazing. “Because you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m trying to save you from making a terrible mistake, Michelle. I know. You just have to trust me. I know.”

I wondered what awful things she knew or thought she knew about the Mormons. But no matter how persistently I questioned her, she wouldn’t talk. She just kept saying no in that hard, tight way. In the end, though, my father prevailed. He usually did because he was so reasonable and so patient. He kept reminding her that I was 20 years old. In a few months I would be able to decide for myself, without their approval. He reminded her of what a good girl I was: smart and hardworking, obedient and truthful. “She deserves to find her own way in life,” he told my mother gently.

So we made a bargain. I was to meet with the minister of my own church for classes in theology. I was to learn everything I could about the beliefs and doctrines of the church I had belonged to my whole life. In other words, I was to give their way one last, real chance, as much a chance as I had given the Mormons. Then, if I still wanted to leave—to reject their ways, to become a Latter-day Saint—they would give their consent.

Those visits with our minister, I reflected, had led to one of the most solemn, impressive experiences of my life. I remembered vividly how nervous, almost foolish, I had felt as I walked the path to the old stone church and pulled back the heavy door. My footsteps sounded loud and obtrusive as I crossed the hard, polished floor and knocked tentatively on the door of the pastor’s office. The office, itself, was enough to make me feel overwhelmed. It was large and thickly carpeted, and one entire wall was lined with shelves that supported hundreds of thick, old, impressive-looking volumes. Dr. Allred sat in a brown leather chair behind a massive desk, which separated us awkwardly as I perched on the edge of a chair across from him.

“So you think you want to be a Mormon?” he said suddenly, and his face never changed expression. I couldn’t begin to tell what he was thinking. Before I could find an answer, he continued. “It’s your parents’ idea that you come here, isn’t it?”

I nodded, while he gazed at me, until finally a slight smile began to break up the corners of the thin, long line of his mouth. “Well, let’s see what we can do,” he said, leaning forward across the desk.

We met together three different times, and I read the books and pamphlets he gave me. I answered his questions and he answered some of mine, but our discussions were always very polite and restrained. On our last evening together he sat behind his desk and looked across at me, and he left unopened the heavy book we were supposed to talk about together. Instead he lifted his eyebrow in a thoughtful manner and said, “I’ve done what your parents desired, Michelle. But there’s really nothing I can teach you; both you and I know that. What you do now must be your own decision, of course.”

He hesitated, and I found myself leaning forward in my chair, drawn by the expression on his face and something I felt in the tenor of his voice. He pushed his chair back suddenly and rose, walked quickly to the expanse of books and pulled down a small, slender volume. Returning to the desk he set it down firmly, then pushed it over until it rested mere inches from my own hand, which was gripping the smooth edge of the big desk. The lettering on the leather cover was close to me and easy to see. I gave a little gasp as I read the words: Book of Mormon.

“That’s right,” he said, “the Book of Mormon. I get some of the material for my sermons out of that book.” His voice was soft, but it penetrated deep inside me so that my heart began to beat wildly, and I felt a warm, tingling sensation across my skin.

“I would be a Mormon myself if it were possible.” He picked up the volume and balanced it thoughtfully in his hand. “I am a minister; it is my life. It’s all I’ve ever known. My father was a minister, and his father before him.” He paused and looked up, and his eyes held a sadness that was almost an intrusion to look upon. “But if I were you,” he continued in the same soft, firm voice, “I would become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Dr. Allred rose and replaced the book. I rose from my chair. I knew there was nothing left to be said between us, but I was wrong. At the door he shook my hand warmly, holding me with his eyes. “What I said tonight I have said for you alone. If you repeat it, I will deny that it was ever spoken. And you know, of course, which of us would be believed.”

I nodded, trying to answer with my eyes and my smile, too overwhelmed to be able to do more, and walked home alone through the crisp, silent night.

The next week I was baptized. None of my family attended the baptism. This was something I wanted to do, and I had their permission. But permission and support are not the same thing. Even my kindly father could not offer support for something he could neither agree with nor understand.

Pornography pretends that it is no evil stranger—that it is not a problem and is not addictive. That is a lie. One 12-year-old boy recently wrote to the New Era, telling of his experience viewing pornography when he was alone at home. While initially it was exciting, he soon felt deep despair. He wrote: “I have been trying my best to forget those images. I would like to say to anyone reading the Friend or New Era that while porn might be pleasurable, it really wrecks your soul and is hard to recover from.”

Erin Woodward’s sixth great-grandfather walked across the plains. Erin, from Westminster, Colorado, thought of this grandfather and his family as she participated in the trek with her stake.

“Now I feel like the silliest girl in the whole world,” she said. “I mean, I have been so into my materialistic things. Seriously, I have a curling iron in my pocket. I even have makeup and everything. I feel horrible because the real pioneers didn’t live as well as I do. Before this I never really understood how blessed I am.”

Tetsuko lived by a high mountain in Japan. She was excited because she was going to school for the very first time. But as she was dressing in her new school uniform, her stomach began to hurt. She didn’t feel like eating breakfast, and she began to cry.
Okasan (Mother) asked, “What is the matter, Tetsuko? Do you feel sick?”
“Yes. My stomach hurts, and I don’t think I will be able to go to school today,” she sobbed.
Otosan (Father) took her hand in his and said, “I think I know what might be wrong with you. This is your first day of school. You will be away from home all day, and you don’t know what to expect. I had the same feeling when I started my job. Would you like me to give you a special father’s blessing?”
Tetsuko nodded.
Otosan placed his hands upon her head and gave her a blessing. He thanked Heavenly Father for her and for the happiness she brought them. He blessed her to feel better, to not be afraid, and to feel peace in her heart.
Tetsuko left for school. That afternoon she ran into the house, calling, “Okasan! I’m home. It was fun at school. My teacher is nice, and I met some new friends.”
Her mother said, “I’m happy you had such a good day and that Otosan was able to give you a special blessing.”

Anthony was surprised when he woke up. This was his third time having the same dream! In his dream, a tall man had shown him a beautiful building. What could it possibly mean?
As a schoolteacher, Anthony had visited many places outside his village in Nigeria. The building from his dream didn’t look like anything he had seen before. Maybe it didn’t actually exist. But there was just something special about it.
As years passed, Anthony still thought about his dream, but he was worried about other things. A war started in Nigeria. It wasn’t safe for Anthony and his wife and children to leave their house. But it was hard being inside all day. Anthony missed seeing his friends and students.
One day Anthony found an old magazine in his house. When he opened it, he saw something that looked familiar. It was the beautiful building from his dream! It was real.
The building belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’ve never heard of that church before, Anthony thought. He wanted to learn more about it, but because of the war, he still couldn’t leave his house. He would have to wait.
When the war finally ended, Anthony sent a letter to the Church’s headquarters in Salt Lake City. He asked if they would send missionaries to teach him and his family. “Can you build your church in my town?” Anthony wrote. “Please send me scriptures so I can teach the other villagers.”
Anthony was sad when he received a letter from Church headquarters: “Right now we don’t have any missionaries in your country.” Back then, most black men couldn’t hold the priesthood. And the Church wasn’t organized in much of Africa.
But Anthony was good at waiting on the Lord’s timing. Even though he couldn’t get baptized yet, he kept his faith strong.
The Church sent Anthony and his family the Book of Mormon and other Church books. Anthony studied the books and taught what he learned to the other villagers.
So many people were interested in the gospel that Anthony wanted a place for everyone to meet.
On a road lined with banana trees, Anthony built a little chapel with a blue door and shutters. The front of the building read, “Nigerian Latter-Day Saints.”
Years went by. Then one day Anthony heard wonderful news. God told the prophet that all worthy men could have the priesthood. The Church was sending missionaries to Anthony’s village!
The missionaries were surprised to find a church building and so many people ready to be baptized. They were amazed at the faith of Anthony and the other villagers.
“It has been a long, difficult wait,” Anthony told the missionaries, “but that doesn’t matter now. You have come at last.”
Anthony was the first person baptized in the Ekeonumiri River in Nigeria. When the new branch was organized, he was called to be the branch president. His wife, Fidelia, was the Relief Society president. They were sealed together in the temple years later.
Anthony continued sharing his faith with others. He often told people that the seed of the gospel planted in Nigeria would grow into a great tree. The world would be surprised by its growth.
Anthony was right. Today there are more than 170,000 members of the Church in Nigeria—and a beautiful temple! The gospel seed Anthony helped plant continues to grow around the world today.