Gospel Story Finder

When Joseph Smith died, the walls of the Nauvoo Temple were less than halfway done, and soon it became apparent to President Brigham Young (1801–77) that the Saints would again be driven out. So he asked the Lord: “Should we stay here and finish the temple, knowing that we will have to abandon it almost as soon as it’s done, or should we go now?” The answer came clearly, “Stay” (see Brigham Young diary, Jan. 24, 1845, Church Archives; Ronald K. Esplin, “Fire in His Bones,” Ensign, Mar. 1993, 46). The ordinances of the endowment and of sealing were so important that the Saints needed to stay.

And so for the next year, they poured all they had into the temple. Toward the end, their homes were being burned around Nauvoo, and the Saints were preparing to go west just as they were finishing the temple. In December 1845, enough of the temple was completed that the Saints could dedicate part of it, give endowments to those who were worthy, and seal husbands and wives to each other.

Over the next few months, they worked around the clock to prepare everyone spiritually for the great trek west. To me it’s profound and sacred that I am sealed by that same power to my wife, children, parents, and generations who have gone before and generations yet unborn. That is what the Restoration has made possible.

I went outside and saw some new neighbors moving in. One of the kids was my age. Her name was Hannah. I remembered there was a Primary activity that very day, so I asked her if she wanted to go. She asked, “What time?” I said, “four o’clock at the church.” She asked her mom and then said OK. I knew at that moment that Jesus and Heavenly Father were happy that I was being kind, because I felt warm inside. Now Hannah and I are best friends.

Our Answer:
You’re moving in the right direction already because you realize the need to confess your problem.
The Lord said, “By this ye may know if a man [woman, boy, girl] repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them” (D&C 58:43; emphasis added). All sins should be confessed to our Heavenly Father in prayer. Serious transgressions should also be confessed to a person’s bishop or branch president.
We should remember that confession is only one step in the repentance process. We must also forsake our sins, make restitution where possible, strive to live an exemplary life, and forgive others of their wrongs against us.
Satan, of course, would love to have you postpone your confession indefinitely. He’ll whisper all manner of nonsense in your ear about how the bishop may be shocked by your confession—or that the bishop would not be understanding—or that the bishop might not keep your confession confidential.
The bishop is God’s agent on earth to hear your confession. He can help you get on the road to repentance and forgiveness and the unspeakable joy which comes from knowing your sins have been forgiven. He will also assist you in getting whatever help you need. You can be certain that your bishop will keep what you say confidential.
Now, if it still seems hard to confess, consider these ideas. Perhaps they will help you to muster the courage you need:
Read the scriptures, especially the Savior’s Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5–7).
Talk to your father or mother or to a trusted friend or adviser.
It might help to take a parent, adviser, or perhaps your best friend with you when you go to see the bishop. (You need not tell your friend what you’re going to see the bishop about.) He or she can be of support and strength to you right up to the bishop’s door.
Don’t forget to pray. Plead with the Lord to give you the strength you need.
Make an appointment with the bishop. Then keep the appointment, no matter what. In fact, right now might be a good time to make the appointment.
Finally, remember this: The Lord suffered and died so that your sins could be paid for by him, rather than by you. But it can only work if you do your part—by confessing and forsaking your sin. And the sooner this is done, the sooner the sweetness and joy of that forgiveness can surround you.
Youth Answers:
I know exactly how you feel. A few months ago, my boyfriend and I did something wrong. After that, it seemed as if in every fireside the speaker was talking just to me. I felt terrible. I knew I needed to tell my bishop, but I just couldn’t.
I tried to tell myself that if I just forgot about it and never did it again, the Lord would forget too. Last week I had an interview with my bishop to get my patriarchal blessing. I knew I had to tell him. I prayed before I went in. Then with a prayer in my heart, I took a deep breath and told him. Now I feel so much better! It was so hard to do. But I thank the Lord for giving me the courage to confess. Now I can complete my repentance, and I won’t have to carry that burden for the rest of my life.
Name withheld
It’s hard, I know. I’ve had that experience. It took me two years to gain the courage I needed to go to my bishop. When I did and talked with him about my problem, you wouldn’t believe the amount of guilt and pain that was lifted from my shoulders. It’s almost impossible to imagine the joy one can feel when the problem is gone. Bishops keep these things you tell them a secret. They have to. They show you how to repent and solve your problem. They also let you know that you’re still a son or daughter of God and that your Father in Heaven still loves you. Please, go to your bishop if you haven’t already. You’ll be glad that you did.
Name withheld

The image of that team standing in the field stayed with me. I thought that perhaps I could do a painting of the bishop’s team standing in the field with the reins draped over the plow.
I hesitated because it had been nine years since I had painted a picture. Two friends with unusual talent and inspiration offered to help me paint the bishop’s team, and July gave a respite from travel, so I began.
I learned much from those two friends, and in a real way they are in my painting. But I received more help from my two sons. One son took those pictures of the plowed field, for I try always to be very accurate when depicting something in wood or on canvas or with words.
That is another lesson. I could draw back from our children something they had learned when they were young.
The other son decided to do a sculpture of the bishop’s team to be cast in bronze as a companion to my painting. We spent many rewarding hours helping one another.
He took from our barn a couple of old harnesses which have hung essentially untouched for over 50 years. He dusted them off and took them home. He draped one harness over a very patient riding horse. It stood quietly as he arranged the harness in proper order and made detailed sketches of it.
His neighbor had collected some old plows. Among them was a plow of proper vintage, which he also sketched.
And so there came back that which we had given those sons in their youth. As with our other children, they have improved on that which we as parents taught them when they were very young. And if our days are prolonged upon the earth, there comes a second harvest—our grandchildren—and perhaps a third.
That painting of The Bishop’s Team will soon be finished. My son’s sculpture is at the foundry being cast in bronze.
His sculpture, incidentally, is much better than my painting. That is as it should be. His young fingers and mind respond more readily than mine do.

When my ballet teacher showed us what our costume would look like for the spring recital, my sister and I knew it wasn’t modest. We decided to talk to our ballet teacher and explain that we were not comfortable wearing that costume. We told her we would not be able to be in the recital unless the costume was modest. My ballet teacher agreed to change the costume so it would be modest. I was glad I talked to my teacher about it and that she was willing to make the changes to the costume so my sister and I could be in the recital. I know it was the right thing to do.

I am an eyewitness of that truth. Over a lifetime, my wife has spoken for the Lord and served people for Him. As I’ve mentioned before, one of our bishops once said to me: “I’m amazed. Every time I hear of a person in the ward who is in trouble, I hurry to help. Yet by the time I arrive, it seems that your wife has always already been there.” That has been true in all the places we have lived for 56 years.
Now she can speak only a few words a day. She is visited by people she loved for the Lord. Every night and morning I sing hymns with her and we pray. I have to be voice in the prayers and in the songs. Sometimes I can see her mouthing the words of the hymns. She prefers children’s songs. The sentiment she seems to like best is summarized in the song “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.”
The other day, after singing the words of the chorus: “Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do,” she said softly, but clearly, “Try, try, try.” I think that she will find, when she sees Him, that our Savior has put His name into her heart and that she has become like Him. He is carrying her through her troubles now, as He will carry you through yours.

Robert sat on the swing in his backyard and stared at the overcast sky. It was a boring Friday afternoon, and he couldn’t think of anything to do. His best friends, Will and Jason, were visiting their grandparents over the Thanksgiving weekend. Robert didn’t have any grandparents. The juicy brown turkey and shimmering red cranberry sauce had been eaten yesterday. Oh, there’d be turkey sandwiches and turkey soup, but the actual turkey dinner was only a memory. Even the pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream was a thing of the past—Robert had polished off the last slice right after lunch. There was nothing to look forward to now but a long, empty weekend.
Robert kicked at some of the leaves on the ground. The air was cold, and the sky seemed like a gray blanket above him. With his luck, it would probably snow too. As he stared at the clouds, he saw something red out of the corner of his eye.
Turning his head, Robert saw that that something red was floating past the chimney of a house down the street. It was a balloon! A bright red balloon was floating lazily on the wind currents.
Robert watched the bobbing balloon, fascinated. Forgetting the cold, overcast afternoon, he stood up and ran toward the balloon.
The balloon drifted lower and lower until it was directly over Robert’s head. When he reached up to grab it, the balloon drifted out of his reach. He ran after it and jumped when he was directly beneath the bright object. His hand snagged the balloon’s short string, and he pulled it down. A bright red balloon was a wonderful thing to have on a gloomy Friday-after-Thanksgiving!
As Robert ran his hand over the balloon’s smooth surface, he felt something strange. Turning the balloon around, he saw a label stuck to the side of the balloon. It read:
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
From Ethel Gazelle
Pine Crest Nursing Home
St. Louis, Missouri
Robert had never received a Thanksgiving balloon before. And this balloon had traveled more than sixty miles! Why, his Thanksgiving weekend was turning out to be pretty exciting. Even if he didn’t have grandparents to visit like Will and Jason did, he had a Thanksgiving balloon.
Suddenly Robert had an idea. Holding tightly to the balloon’s string, he raced home. Carefully he released the balloon in his room, where it rose slightly and hovered over his books and papers. Robert pulled off his jacket and hung it on its hook. Then he sat down, found a clean piece of paper and a pencil, and wrote:
Dear Mrs. Gazelle,
I found your red balloon on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Thank you for sending it. It traveled more than sixty miles to Union, Missouri, where I live. My name is Robert, and I’m nine years old. Would you like to be my pen pal? I never had a Thanksgiving balloon before. I like it very much.
Sincerely,
Robert Webster
Satisfied, Robert carefully copied Mrs. Gazelle’s address onto the front of an envelope. Then he wrote his address in the upper left-hand corner. He folded his letter, tucked it inside the envelope, put a stamp on it, sealed it, and took it to the mailbox on the next block.
Robert wondered if Mrs. Gazelle would write back. Maybe they could be pen pals for a long time. He could send her letters and birthday and Christmas cards.
It would be almost like having a grandmother.

“The death of my father and my mother’s going away so soon were difficult experiences for me. When I was about nine years old, I remember thinking that there was nobody in the world as unhappy as I was. As dear and wonderful as my grandparents were, it was difficult for them to be parents to a young family while Mother was away at school.

“I remember that in the fourth grade I was a bewildered little boy who couldn’t do long division and couldn’t spell. Every day we had about twenty spelling words and twenty long-division problems. Whenever we would correct our papers, I would always miss fifteen or more. Everybody knew that Dallin Oaks was the dumbest boy in the room.

“But after my mother recovered, our family was reunited and we moved to Vernal. There, I had a wonderful fifth-grade teacher, Pearl Schaeffer. She is still living in Vernal, and I correspond with her. She helped me understand that I was somebody who could achieve in school, and she expected me to do it. She was a good, warm, loving person and a fine teacher. My school performance changed almost overnight as a result of her expectations and our improved family situation.

On June 29, Brigham learned that three officers from the United States Army were coming to Mosquito Creek. The United States had declared war on Mexico, and President James Polk had authorized the men to recruit a battalion of five hundred Saints for a military campaign to the California coast.

The next day, Brigham discussed the news with Heber Kimball and Willard Richards. Brigham had no quarrel with Mexico, and the idea of helping the United States galled him. But the West could become American territory if the United States won the war, and assisting the army could improve the Saints’ relationship with the nation. More important, the enlisted men’s pay could help the Church fund its westward migration.40

Brigham spoke with the officers as soon as they arrived. He learned that their orders had come after Thomas Kane, a well-connected young man on the East Coast, had heard about the Saints’ plight and introduced Jesse Little to important officials in Washington, DC. After some lobbying, Jesse had met with President Polk and persuaded him to help the Saints move west by enlisting some of them in military service.

Seeing the benefits of the arrangement, Brigham endorsed the orders wholeheartedly. “This is the first offer we have ever had from the government to benefit us,” he declared. “I propose that the five hundred volunteers be mustered, and I will do my best to see all their families brought forward, as far as my influence can be extended, and feed them when I have anything to eat myself.”41

Let me tell you a story about a man who received his PhD from this institution. We had known this person for a number of years. He married later than many, and as we watched him relate with a young woman, we wondered if she could keep up; we wondered if she had the capacity to understand life as he had learned it because he was more than several years older. Then, as we observed that couple at social functions and elsewhere, we saw that he would take time to carefully instruct her. As he returned from classwork, he would bring home books for her to read and to study. As they took long walks, they were constantly teaching each other. What a beautiful marriage and what a lovely family they now have because they have taken the time to compliment and to build each other! They are serving now in the mission field together, there because of his sensitivity and because of her sensitivity, there because they desire to build one another.

One night when it was time for home evening, Steve suggested, “Let’s do something exciting tonight—like kickball or something.”
So Becky and Julie went outside to set up bases while the older girls stayed to clean up the dinner dishes. It wasn’t long before eight-year-old Becky flew through the door, her face ashen and her voice trembling in fright. “There’s a bear out there! There’s a bear out there!”
Suddenly everyone was bumping shoulders on the porch trying to catch a good view of the bear. There he was, foraging through the bushes, pausing for a moment to watch the commotion on the Crandalls’ porch. Suddenly, a neighbor pointed his rifle out the side window and fired at the bear several times. The injured bear began to lumber away. Quickly Dad and Steve grabbed their guns to help out. “You don’t leave a wounded bear up here. They can get vicious,” Dad explained.
They never caught the bear that night. But when Mom asked, “Was that enough excitement for you, Steve?” laughter filled the tiny house.

It had been almost three months since the train of two-wheel handcarts had left for the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. Without enough money to buy teams and wagons, the emigrants had had their carts made in Iowa City. All their belongings were either loaded inside the carts or lashed to the sides of the carts. And every able-bodied person took his turn pushing and pulling them during the journey. Now the distant snow-topped mountains and the cooler nights warned the struggling band that they must waste no time, or winter would be upon them before they reached their destination.
Several fires for the evening meal had already been lighted, and all those old enough to help were busy at necessary tasks. Some of the men were greasing axles; others were repairing carts, a number of which were almost beyond repair. A few men with guns fanned out from the campsite, hoping to obtain game. Women were dipping meal from wooden casks, in some cases scraping the bottoms.
Ben Ashford, large for a twelve-year-old, walked cautiously along the almost dry creek bed. He was a good shot, and he hoped that he might scare up a jackrabbit, because the Ashford provisions were very low.
Hearing a low moan, Ben stopped and quietly looked around. The sound came again. Certain that it was a person making the noise, Ben ran back to camp shouting, “It sounds like somebody’s hurt down in the creek bed!”
“You must be hearing things, Ben. There’s nobody within miles of here,” said his father.
“Well, it could be an animal, but it sounds like a person … Honest!”
Taking the gun from Ben, his father called to two other men, “Bring your guns—the boy thinks there’s a person or a beast down in the creek bottom.”
The men stopped and listened intently as they approached the creek bed. From a cavelike hole in the bank came the sound of a barely audible moan. Brush and grass had been drawn over the opening, and while Ben’s father jerked off the brush, the others stood ready to shoot.
Glaring at them from inside the opening was a young Indian boy with a sharp pointed stick in his left hand. Blood covered his right shoulder and arm. After making signs to the boy that he wouldn’t be harmed, the men helped him from his hiding place.
Back at camp when Ben’s mother dressed the boy’s wounded shoulder, he didn’t even whimper.
There were only a few dried berries and a small serving each of oatmeal porridge for supper, but Ben’s family shared what they had with the Indian lad. As the boy began to recover, they talked kindly to him and learned that his name was White Cloud. Slowly he began to trust them, especially Ben. With signs and a few English words, White Cloud told them that he and a friend had been picking mountain berries and had gone too far from their camp. His friend had been killed, and he himself had been grazed by a bullet and had escaped by running down to the creek bed and hiding there.
“We’d better post an extra guard tonight,” advised Sandy McIntire, the camp leader, when he saw the boy. “Although we’ve had friendly relations with the Indians so far, White Cloud’s people might suspect us of shooting the boys.”
With the first light of dawn, the camp was stirring. Weeks before, Ben had discovered a bee tree not far from one of their camps. The honey had been shared, and Ben’s mother had used theirs on special occasions. Now Ben grinned broadly when he saw his mother drop a little of the precious sweet into their breakfast porridge.
After a prayer for help and guidance, the carts rolled forward. Mr. Ashford took the shafts to begin pulling the cart. His wife ducked under the cart handle to add her strength beside her husband. With Ben, his younger brother, and the Indian boy pushing from behind, the Ashford cart moved steadily over the rough, rock-strewn trail.
Without warning, White Cloud stumbled and fell, and Ben called for his parents to stop. The Indian boy made no complaint as he struggled to his feet, and when Ben’s father started to lift him onto the cart, he pulled back and shook his head violently. By not helping to push, he was able to walk along at their slower pace.
The sun was just slipping over the horizon when several mounted Indians appeared, riding out from behind a bold outcrop of rock just ahead. The carts were stopped, and an order was quickly given to remain calm and to display no firearms.
The Ashford cart was near the front of the line where they could clearly see the approaching Indians, and White Cloud recognized them at once. He cried out, pointed to himself, and ran weakly toward the braves. The riders broke into a gallop, then slowed down and stopped upon reaching the boy. The leader dismounted, and for a long moment the train waited while man and boy talked. Then, remounting with the boy behind him, the leader approached the carts with his hand raised, palm out. Ben’s father and Sandy McIntire stepped out to meet him.
“I am Walking Horse. You helped White Cloud, my son. We want peace with you.”
“We are your friends,” Ben’s father responded.
White Cloud’s good arm was held tightly about his father’s waist as they rode away.
Ben said slowly, “I’m glad I found White Cloud. I only wish he could have stayed with us long enough for us to have become good friends.”
Relieved by the outcome of the meeting, Sandy McIntire waved for the emigrants to move out, saying, “We’ll stop for the night as soon as we reach water.”
They made camp in an open space by a little brawling stream. All were exhausted from pulling and pushing the carts, often uphill. Two men had circled out ahead of the train to search for game but returned empty-handed. Suddenly two Indians on horseback entered the little valley.
Ben, who was watching anxiously, exclaimed, “It’s Walking Horse!”
Walking Horse was leading a heavily ladened pack horse. The second rider was also leading a pack animal. The members of the emigrant train were speechless as the Indians unfastened the pack horses’ lashings and dropped two elk at the feet of Ben’s father and Sandy McIntire.
Ben’s father responded instantly: “We are grateful. Our people are hungry. God be with you.”
“White Cloud said you have no meat. Now you have meat.” Walking Horse raised his hand slowly in a sign of peace. He touched his heel to his horse’s flank, and the two Indians and their horses were soon out of sight.

It was December 31, 1974. I know the exact date because it was the day I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I had been baptized early in the morning and was in my front yard, playing in a tree by the road, when a neighbor girl walked by. Now, this neighbor girl and I did not need to have a DTR, because we understood exactly where we stood with each other. We hated each other. She called me names, and I threw rocks at her. On this particular day, as I sat in the tree, she walked by, and I didn’t have any rocks with me, but I did have some nasty things to yell. And I yelled them. But something funny happened as soon as I did. The Holy Ghost whispered to me that I had just committed a sin. At the time, I didn’t recognize it as the Holy Ghost. I just felt a sick feeling in my stomach and guilt swept over me. The distinct thought came to my 8-year-old mind that I had just been baptized and cleansed from my sins, and I was supposed to go the rest of my life without sinning, and I didn’t even make it one day.
I’ve spent a lot of time, as I suppose some of you may have, wishing I could just be baptized again and start over fresh and clean. However, I have come to realize that even if I had another shot at baptism, I wouldn’t make it very long before I was wishing I could do it again.

Raquel “Liriel” Domiciano was about to sing in front of millions of people. Was she worried about messing up? A little. Was she worried about what to wear? Naturally. But what worried her most?
Only 19 at the time, Liriel, a member of the Church for five years, wanted to stand as a witness “of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).
Liriel was about to perform in Brazil’s largest televised talent competition, the Raul Gil Amateur Show. She had been told she couldn’t say anything about her religion. But she knew that many of Brazil’s Latter-day Saints would be watching, and she wanted everyone to know she wasn’t ashamed of the gospel. After praying in her room before her first performance, she looked up and saw her Young Women medallion. It was the answer she had been looking for.
Liriel wore her medallion during every level of the competition. Eventually she and her partner, tenor Rinaldo Viana, won the contest, signed a recording contract, and watched as their first CD became the second-highest classical best-seller in Brazil’s history, with more than one million copies sold.
Almost overnight, Liriel and Rinaldo were a huge hit. But Liriel’s success is based on years of preparation, during which she trained herself as a lyric soprano. She credits her participation in the Young Women program with preparing her for life.
Wearing the medallion as she performed was her way of letting people know she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and willing to stand as a witness, even in front of millions.

My brother, sister, and I moved to a safer place, and for a short while we were all right, but the rebels eventually hit that town too. This time we didn’t have time to run away. My brother was taken and later killed. My sister and I were lined up outside with all the other women. The rebel soldiers were chopping off limbs of all the women in the line. We were all so frightened. Everyone was crying and praying—even people who had never believed in God before. I was not a member of the Church at the time, but I believed in God and prayed that His will would be done and hoped that He would find a way to save me.
My dear sister, who was several places ahead of me in line, had both of her legs cut off. But as the rebels reached the woman in front of me, our army came rushing in, and the rebels ran away. I know that I was not better than the people who were in front of me or behind me, but I thanked God that I had been spared and prayed that I might understand His plan for me.

The majority of young members in Japan are, however, converts themselves.
Hiroyuki Inoue, 17, of the Machida First Ward, remembers vividly the day he and some friends went into Tokyo “just to hang around.”
“We saw several missionaries at a display in the street. One of them held out his hand to me and said, ‘I would like to talk to you a little.’ I was strongly impressed with this missionary’s sincere eyes, his beautiful, shining eyes. He gave me a feeling that what he was telling me was of great significance to me. I promised to attend church the following day.
“At church, even though I had never been there before, I felt as if I was coming back after a long absence. The missionaries taught me the gospel. When I learned about the atonement of Jesus Christ and the many blessings the Lord has given to us, I was happy. My knowledge became sure that he is my Savior and this is his Church.”

The heart of an 11-year-old boy was turned to his fathers during a family home evening when the children assembled personal books of remembrance. Young Jeff wanted to accompany his mother to the National Archives. She was afraid he might disturb the other researchers there. But he persisted, and she relented and took him with her. Four hours into their research, he exclaimed, “Mama, I’ve found Grandpa!” Indeed, he had found his great-great-great-grandfather. However, it doesn’t always work that way. In a letter to the Family History Department, someone wrote: “We lost our grandmother. Will you please send us a copy?”

One of my friends, Andrew, is a member of the Church. I have known him since kindergarten. I always knew he was a member of the Mormon Church, but I didn’t really know what the Church was about.
In ninth grade a girl, Katie, sat next to me in ceramics. I found out she was a member of the Church also. I became interested in the Church because of my two member friends. I began to ask Katie and Andrew questions every single day. Of course they were glad to answer my questions because they got to share their testimonies.
One day Katie offered me a Book of Mormon and told me that if I read it, I would get a really good feeling. I declined the book because I was really busy and didn’t think I had time to read it. But then in 10th grade I started thinking about the Church again, and whenever I thought about the Church, I would always get this really good feeling inside of me, which I later learned was the Holy Ghost.
I called Katie and told her I would like to get that Book of Mormon. She told me that she had a better idea and invited me to meet with the missionaries. I knew there was something very special about the Church, because I got that good feeling, so I agreed to meet with them.
Those lessons were the best thing I have ever done. I looked forward to them every week because of the feeling I got inside when I was being taught. When the missionaries invited me to get baptized, I gladly accepted. My baptism was the best event I have ever had in my life. Katie and Andrew spoke, as well as some other member friends I made at church. Ever since I joined the Church I have been very happy. It is my favorite place to be in the entire world.

Another story I would like to share is about our friend and neighbor at TVA, Mi Jeong Lee. She and her husband, Yoon Ha, and daughters, Han Sol, Han Bi, and Emma, were also our neighbors while living in TVA. Mi Jeong and Yoon Ha came from South Korea and took the giant leap of faith to move to Hawaii leaving behind family and friends, as well as employment. Mi Jeong and Yoon Ha would come to BYU–Hawaii and learn English as a second language, while being immersed in a new culture, and earning their bachelors’ degrees. An accomplishment that is no small feat, and that many of you are familiar with. During their time at BYU–Hawaii we were fortunate to make many fond memories together. Our children enjoyed playing, while the husbands’ activity of choice was night diving, and last, but not least, we all enjoyed Mi Jeong’s incredible pastries and Korean pancakes.

Mi Jeong has shared that the value of their time at BYU–Hawaii was beyond measure. During her experience she strengthened her faith and testimony, learned English, earned a bachelor’s degree, and made lifelong friends. Mi Jeong has shared that through a Church calling in her ward she overcame her fears through study and faith. Mi Jeong’s first calling in her new ward at BYU–Hawaii was one that she really did not want to take. Mi Jeong was called to be a Relief Society teacher, and she felt very strongly that her English was not good enough to do this calling. Mi Jeong said yes anyway. Through much study and practice, Mi Jeong put in hours to prepare for her Relief Society lessons. Mi Jeong even wrote a script to follow that was over ten pages long. One Sunday when she was teaching, Mi Jeong felt inspired to go off script and to share what was in her heart and mind. She testified that she was able to say all the things she wanted to through the Spirit of the Lord and likened her experience to the following two scriptures:
D&C 33:8 “Open your mouths and they shall be filled, and you shall become even as Nephi of old, who journeyed from Jerusalem in the wilderness.”
D&C 8:2 “Yea, behold, I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart.”
Through this Church calling Mi Jeong said she learned that through study and faith the Lord works miracles and can even make weaknesses into strengths.

Since graduating from BYU–Hawaii, Mi Jeong’s husband, Yoon Ha, has worked for the Korean Government Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, and Transport. Recently, he managed transportation to carry athletes from accommodations and stadiums to the Pyeongchang Winter Olympics in 2018. In April of this year, he led his team to sign an MOU with the Utah Transit Authority introducing a light rail traffic system in Korea.

As for Mi Jeong, she majored in TESOL and taught English for several years after graduation. She then returned to school and earned a master's degree in counseling. Mi Jeong currently works at a juvenile facility helping at-risk teens who deal with mental illnesses and serious traumatic events in their lives.

During their years at BYU–Hawaii Mi Jeong and her family were able to earn their college degrees, develop meaningful and impactful relationships with others, and gain invaluable experiences and skills which have blessed their life’s journey in ways that cannot be measured.

—The snow outside didn’t mute the lights inside of the Paisley Scotland Stake celebration, either. They were putting bows all over the stake Christmas tree, each bow representing an act of service performed by one of the young women. Among other things, they had collected household equipment and used clothing for a women’s refuge center and had put on a concert at a home for the elderly.
“We should serve everyone, not just those we like being around. Christ is our best example of service,” said Heather Wallis, as she pulled her coat on and prepared to walk out into the snowy dusk.