Gospel Story Finder

Tina knew how she was supposed to feel at Christmas. After all, she attended her Primary class, and she listened to her teacher. She knew all the right answers: It is better to give than to receive. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Do unto others as … *
It was a tradition in Tina’s family to help a needy family every year, and she and her brother, Mack, and her sister, Juleen, would help decide what gifts to buy for that family’s children. Her whole family always went to deliver the gifts, which usually included a case of oranges, a turkey or ham, and a big box of groceries. Tina liked doing it. Even so, she secretly felt that “the joy of giving” was somewhat overrated. It seemed pretty routine to her, even though she knew she couldn’t admit that to anyone without seeming to be a grouch.
The night after her folks had explained that this year they would be helping a Vietnamese family down the block and that she was to choose gifts for a girl about her own age, Tina knelt down to say her prayers. As she finished with her nightly thank-yous and “please blesses,” she added fervently, “Heavenly Father, please help me to choose something Kia will enjoy. And please, please help me to find the spirit of Christmas so I can know the kind of joy I keep hearing and reading about. I don’t really think I have a hard heart, but it seems to me that people keep making too big a deal about giving to others. Help me to understand.”
At school the next day, Tina took special notice of Kia. Before, she was just the Oriental girl who couldn’t talk very well and who wore dresses that were too long and shoes that looked like boys’ shoes. Tina couldn’t remember whether or not she had ever spoken directly to her. At recess she found Kia leaning against the side of the building, watching the other children build a snow fort. Since she had no gloves and wore only those funny shoes, it was easy to see why she wasn’t participating.
“Hi, Kia. Do you like the snow?”
“I do not like. It is very cold.”
Tina made a mental note that warm boots would make a nice gift. That decision made, she turned to join her frolicking classmates. Something, however, made her pause and turn back to the dark-eyed Kia with another question. “Kia, what would you like for Christmas?”
“Christmas? I do not know about Christmas.”
Tina tried to explain about the birth of Christ and the gifts that were brought by the Wise Men and the traditions of gift-giving and love that have been carried down through the years, but she soon realized that Kia did not understand very much English. She tried to make it simple. “Kia,” she said, “on Christmas we give gifts to people we love. Do you understand gifts?“
Kia nodded. “I understand. My mother make a gift to me. These shoes—see? She buy them at a first-hand clothes shop.”
Tina was about to explain that it was actually a second-hand clothing store, but somehow that did not seem important. “Kia, I want to give you a gift for Christmas. What would you like?”
“A gift because you love me?”
Tina was not sure how to answer. It was obvious that Kia had understood every word of her simple explanation of Christmas gifts. Fortunately the bell rang to signal the end of recess. “We’ll talk after school, Kia. We’d better hurry now.”
As Tina was getting her things from her locker after school, her friend Stacie approached. “Hi, Tina. Natalie and I are going to walk by Ferguson’s Department Store and look at the neat window displays. Want to come?”
“Sure, Stace, just a minute.”
As she turned to join her friend, Tina saw Kia standing expectantly a little way down the hall. She was tempted to pretend that she didn’t see her, but when Kia’s hand lifted hesitantly in a kind of shy greeting, she waved back. “Hey, Stace, I guess I’d better not go with you tonight. I have to … I mean, I sort of made a promise to do something else.”
“OK. I have to hurry—Natalie is waiting. Plan to come with us tomorrow.”
She could have coaxed me a little, Tina thought with a tinge of disappointment as she greeted Kia. “Hi. I see you didn’t forget.”
“No. No. I not forget.”
“Well, now, we were talking about what you would like for a Christmas gift.”
“Yes. Yes. A gift because you love me.”
“Well, ah, yes. I guess so. What one thing would you like most?”
“Ah, I need no thing. My family has some food each day and things to wear from the first-hand shop.”
Tina felt exasperation growing within her. “Well, you must want something.”
Immediately the slender girl stiffened, and Tina regretted her impatience. “Kia,” she said more kindly, “I really do like you, and I would like to know you better. There must be something you want.”
“I want two things. I want very much to have a friend—and I want to be able to speak the English well.”
“I know—let’s walk home together, Kia. My house is near your house. On the way I’ll help you learn more English words.”
As the two girls walked homeward, Tina pointed to objects and spoke their names clearly: Sidewalk. Snow. Lights. Decorations. Christmas tree.
Kia pronounced each word with difficulty; but her laughter bore no trace of an accent. When they reached Tina’s house, Kia said, “Good-bye, Tina. You have made me glad. I really like to talk the English. Will you also yesterday help me?”
Tina laughed. “You mean tomorrow, Kia. Tomorrow is the day after today. And yes, I will help you tomorrow.”
Tina hadn’t forgotten that Stacie and Natalie would again be going to the mall, but she couldn’t ignore the eagerness in Kia’s face. In fact, she suspected that she was learning a little more about the joy of giving. The warm boots would be easy—especially since her dad would be paying for the gift—but the gifts of friendship and time were different. As Kia disappeared into the little house down the street, her words came back to Tina’s mind: “A gift because you love me?”
“Yes,” Tina whispered as she skipped home, a wonderful warmth welling up inside her. “Yes, Kia. A gift because I love you.”

I sat in the temple waiting to do baptisms for the dead, and I prayed. I was 20 years old, and I wanted to know: Should I serve a full-time mission? I had a feeling the answer was no, but I wanted to ask once and for all.
Suddenly I shivered all over, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over me. No was the impression I felt. No mission for me.
Although I knew the expectation for young women to go on missions is not the same as for young men, I was confused. Why did the Spirit encourage me not to serve? Wouldn’t I be good at spreading the gospel?
As some of my friends received mission calls, I sometimes wondered what my future would hold. My 21st birthday was approaching, and I couldn’t help thinking, “There’s still time to be interviewed and submit my mission papers.”
I was studying in England when my parents called me. I could hear my mother crying as she told me the devastating news: She had been diagnosed with cancer.
A month later when I came home to the United States for the summer, chemotherapy was making Mom weak. I started helping around the house, learning to manage chores and meals. I also spent hours talking to Mom, fearful that I might lose her. I learned that managing a household is complicated, time-consuming work, and I gained a new appreciation for Mom’s efforts over the years. I barely managed to put decent dinners on the table.
Fortunately, ward members and others in the community helped us.
Mom’s treatment went on, and meanwhile our family grew closer. Mom told us stories about her youth, and we played lots of board games. We talked about the scriptures. My dad shared his fears with me as well as his testimony.
During that summer, I learned eternal lessons. I knew my place for now was at home with my family. My testimony grew as I felt Heavenly Father’s love all summer long. I became better friends with the ward members I had known all my life. My family grew closer, comforted by the knowledge that our family ties would last beyond death. I thanked the Lord for answering my question about serving a mission, guiding me to serve my family.
Editor’s note: Since her treatments, the author’s mother has recovered her health.

In a 1997 devotional address given at BYU, President Russell M. Nelson called Brigham Young “the modern Moses” [4] because of his efforts to gather the Saints to Salt Lake City. Many pioneer companies were successful in their journeys, but notable exceptions included the Martin and Willie handcart companies that became stranded in Wyoming during early snowstorms in 1856.

Three years ago, my wife and I participated in a trek at Martin’s Cove and Rocky Ridge, where the Martin and Willie handcart companies were rescued. These historic sites are sacred because of the pioneers who dedicated their lives to and, in some cases, gave their lives for the gospel of Jesus Christ. My heart was touched, and my life changed through this experience. As we silently walked through Martin’s Cove, I pondered the deep commitment of those Saints seeking shelter from the cold and trying to ward off starvation. And as we pulled handcarts up the aptly named Rocky Ridge and listened to stories of individuals who were helped along by angels, I wondered if I would have had the faith and dedication to walk the remaining miles to Rock Creek Hollow, where supplies and food waited. Recounting these experiences connected me with those Saints and has helped strengthen my commitment to my own covenants. It has also helped me recognize my dependence on Jesus Christ for my own spiritual rescue. I hope to be as faithful to my covenants as they were.

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Mandy’s first day in her new school
Class, this is Mandy Cooper. Her family just moved into town, and she will be in our class. Mandy, tell us about yourself.
I wish I didn’t have to do this.
Well, I’m 11 years old. And I have a little brother named Matt. He’s nine and a half. Umm …
Tell us about your hobbies. What do you like to do?
I love animals, especially horses. I collect pictures and figures of horses. Someday I want to have my own horse. I like to make cookies and play soccer. Oh, and I’ve been taking piano lessons for four years, but now we have to find a new piano teacher.
What else?
What’s your favorite food? Do you have a favorite book?
My favorite food is my mom’s cheesy potatoes. And my favorite book is, umm … the Book of Mormon.
What’s that?
What did I just say?
To be continued …

A superb stake president told me of a stake council meeting in which they were wrestling with a difficult challenge. At one point, he realized that the stake Primary president had not spoken, so he asked if she had any impressions. “Well, actually I have,” she said and then proceeded to share a thought that changed the entire direction of the meeting. The stake president continued, “As she spoke, the Spirit testified to me that she had given voice to the revelation we had been seeking as a council.”

As a college student, I spent some time working in the Mutual program at the state training school for the mentally retarded in American Fork, Utah. I quickly learned to accept and love those people. They were remarkable people and their spirituality was stronger than their mental and physical weaknesses.
Except for Ethel—the victim of severe cerebral palsy. I found it very difficult to work with her, or around her. My pity—and my revulsion—were simply too great. She had to be strapped, hands and feet, to a metal frame to keep her from injuring herself. People told me she had a good mind, but it had taken the state workers nearly 40 years to discover that she had a mind at all, it was trapped in such a cruelly crippled body. The workers had finally taught her to speak, though I still could not understand her. I wondered why the Lord had left her here, forcing her to linger when she was obviously miserable.
One day I happened to attend a fast and testimony meeting at the school. At the very end of the meeting, Ethel asked to speak. I wondered why they allowed her to take up time when no one could understand what she said. Then Ethel spoke, clearly enough so that even I could understand her. She said, “I love life!”
I was very startled as I heard her say, “And I love my Heavenly Father!” I bowed my head and wept.
When Ethel finished her testimony, the “kids” sang the song that had fast become their favorite, “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here …” Each time I have heard it since, I have remembered Ethel and the beautiful lesson she taught me.

During World War II, in the early part of 1944, an experience involving the priesthood took place as United States marines were taking Kwajalein Atoll, part of the Marshall Islands and located in the Pacific Ocean about midway between Australia and Hawaii. What took place in this regard was related by a correspondent—not a member of the Church—who worked for a newspaper in Hawaii. In the 1944 newspaper article he wrote following the experience, he explained that he and other correspondents were in the second wave behind the marines at Kwajalein Atoll. As they advanced, they noticed a young marine floating facedown in the water, obviously badly wounded. The shallow water around him was red with his blood. And then they noticed another marine moving toward his wounded comrade. The second marine was also wounded, with his left arm hanging helplessly by his side. He lifted up the head of the one who was floating in the water in order to keep him from drowning. In a panicky voice he called for help. The correspondents looked again at the boy he was supporting and called back, “Son, there is nothing we can do for this boy.”

“Then,” wrote the correspondent, “I saw something that I had never seen before.” This boy, badly wounded himself, made his way to the shore with the seemingly lifeless body of his fellow marine. He “put the head of his companion on his knee. … What a picture that was—these two mortally wounded boys—both … clean, wonderful-looking young men, even in their distressing situation. And the one boy bowed his head over the other and said, ‘I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, to remain alive until I can get medical help.’” The correspondent concluded his article: “The three of us [the two marines and I] are here in the hospital. The doctors don’t know [how they made it alive], but I know.”

During a priesthood executive committee meeting, our full-time missionaries reported meeting a member whose records were not in the ward. I recognized the name immediately and mentioned that she and I had been in the same ward many years ago.
One of the missionaries said, “Yes, bishop, she mentioned that and seemed quite surprised that you were the bishop.”
I asked them, “What did she say?”
They said she looked very surprised and said, “He’s the bishop?”
I had to laugh and explain that this sister knew me as a very different person 30 years ago.

One Saturday night when I was about eleven, many of Mother’s relatives came from out of town to have dinner with us. Such visits were rare, so she spent the whole day getting the dinner ready. She prepared a pot roast and all the vegetables to go with it, mashed potatoes and gravy, salads, hot rolls, and dessert. She cooked all day, and soon the dirty dishes started stacking up.
After dinner, everyone brought the leftover food to the kitchen, then went into the living room and began to visit. I remember going back to the kitchen, thinking, Mother works all week long, and now she’ll have to do the dishes late at night after everyone leaves. Then I thought, I’ll do the dishes for her.
In those days, we didn’t have a dishwasher; the dishwasher was either me or someone else. I filled up the sink and started washing. I stood there for three hours, washing every dish—and I learned that when dishes or pans are dirty, it’s best to clean them immediately, before the food hardens!
Finally I finished drying the last dish, wiping off all the counters, and scrubbing the floor. I heard the relatives walking out onto the porch, and I heard Mother bidding them good-bye.
The kitchen door swung open, and Mother entered. She stopped and looked around and then looked at me. I cannot describe the look on her face. I think that at first it was shock, then appreciation, and then I think it was more than that. It was a feeling of love and pride, and of something I couldn’t measure. I think you understand. There was a light in her eyes. I made the decision then that I would like to put that kind of light into people’s faces.
Mother hugged and thanked me, and I went to bed contented and happy, knowing that she wouldn’t have to stand there doing dishes until two o’clock the next morning.

“Some two or three years after I was baptized, one day while engaged in my studies, I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of that work—that I had not realized the fulfillment of that promise, ‘he that doeth my will shall know of the doctrine,’ and I began to feel very uneasy. I laid aside my books, left the house, and wandered around through the fields under the oppressive influence of a gloomy, disconsolate spirit, while an indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop me. I had been accustomed, at the close of day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed and the heavens seemed like brass over my head. At length, realizing that the usual time had come for secret prayer, I concluded I would not forgo my evening service, and, as a matter of formality, knelt as I was in the habit of doing, and in my accustomed, retired place, but not feeling as I was wont to feel.

“I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the Holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion in the heavenly principle or element, the Holy Ghost; and even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion by water; dispelling forever, so long as reason and memory last, all possibility of doubt or fear in relation to the fact handed down to us historically that the ‘babe of Bethlehem’ is truly the Son of God; and also the fact that He is now being revealed to the children of men, and communicating knowledge, the same as in the apostolic times. I was perfectly satisfied, as well I might be, for my expectations were more than realized; I think I may safely say, in an infinite degree.

“I cannot tell how long I remained in the full flow of the blissful enjoyment and divine enlightenment, but it was several minutes before the celestial element which filled and surrounded me began gradually to withdraw. On arising from my kneeling posture, with my heart swelling with gratitude to God, beyond the power of expression, I felt—I knew that he had conferred on me what only an omnipotent being can confer—that which is of greater value than all the wealth and honors worlds can bestow. That night as I retired to rest, the same wonderful manifestations were repeated, and continued to be for several successive nights. The sweet remembrance of those glorious experiences, from that time to the present, brings them fresh before me, imparting an inspiring influence which pervades my whole being, and I trust will to the close of my earthly existence.” (Preston Nibley, The Presidents of the Church [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1974], pp. 139–140.)

Just eight weeks ago I was holding a mission district conference on the island of Chiloé, an interior location in the south of Chile that gets few visitors. Imagine the responsibility I felt in addressing these beautiful people when it was pointed out to me that a very elderly man seated near the front of the chapel had set out on foot at five o’clock that morning, walking for four hours to be in his seat by nine o’clock for a meeting that was not scheduled to begin until eleven o’clock. He said he wanted to get a good seat. I looked into his eyes, thought of times in my life when I had been either too casual or too late, and thought of Jesus’s phrase, “I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.”

Fourth, we are teachable when we can trust in the Lord. Sometimes we won’t know in advance; sometimes in our lives we will “wait upon the Lord”10 for a long time. But we still need to ready ourselves. We need to be learning even though the specific opportunities to express what we are learning may not be as apparent or as exciting as we wish.
I gained an appreciation of this point a few weeks ago when I accompanied my sister, Diane, to St. George, Utah. Her three children sing in the Utah Valley Children’s Choir, and she wanted to hear their concert. I wanted to sleep or read; she convinced me I could do both in the car while she drove.
The kids had worked hard, paying attention to Beverly Thomas’s direction, learning lyrics, rehearsing harmony, and trying to show up at performances in the appropriate outfits. After their last concert, the kids had a chance to stop in Zion National Park on the way home. Diane and I pulled up alongside the bus as it unloaded sixty noisy kids who raced up the path to Weeping Rock. We decided it would be safer to wait in the parking lot.
All of a sudden it was strangely quiet in the canyon. We couldn’t see the kids. And then truly angelic sounds filled the canyon. People in the parking lot who were not with our group stopped. We all heard words echoing in the canyon:
We will sing, for the Lord is list’ning,He hears the praise of our hearts.We will sing, for the Lord is list’ning.We lift our voices and start to sing for the Lord.11
It was a beautiful moment of clarity and harmony.
When the song ended, there was a joyous shout followed by the more familiar chaotic noises of kids racing back to the bus. When they got back, their excitement and joy was tangible: “Did you hear us?” They relayed the story of an older couple who were nearby as the group started hiking. When they offered to sing to them, the couple smiled and started to back away, only to stand transfixed as the kids began singing.
Now when these kids started choir, nobody promised them a perfect moment in Zion National Park on April 29, but there it was. If they had not been ready—individually prepared and collectively willing to participate—they could not have had that experience. It is one thing to arrive at a place like Zion’s Weeping Rock and realize, yes, this could be a great place for a group of kids to spontaneously experience the product of their learning and the Lord’s love through music and quite another to feel “Oh, here is the place you have prepared, and, having been taught, I am ready.”

When Bonnie and I arrived at the University of Southern California to pursue a doctoral degree, we had four children, little money, a fellowship, and lots of hope. We knew there were difficult and demanding years ahead.

My adviser was a fine faculty member who was also a member of the Church. He was well respected on the campus by both faculty and students. I sought his counsel regarding my program and how best to secure the desired degree.

He encouraged me with assurance that we would be able to meet the academic, time, and financial demands. He also reminded me that such a course would require careful attention to priorities. Pursuit of the degree would have to be the number one objective for both Bonnie and me. Of course, we would have to take time with our children and with each other. He advised me to inform our bishop that I would not be available for Church service except on a limited basis on Sunday.

Now, Bonnie and I had determined early in our lives that we would serve wherever and whenever the Lord should call and had done so from the time we were married. During my freshman year at BYU I had also determined that I would not study my schoolwork on the Sabbath day.

Not long after that the stake president extended a call for me to serve as one of the presidents of the seventies quorum of the stake and as a stake missionary. The call was accepted. The doctoral degree was completed. That experience in service was as important as the educational period that accompanied it.

She has seen this in her family. When she was 10, she was asked to give a testimony of baptism in the Primary sacrament meeting presentation. The only thing is, she hadn’t been baptized yet. Her mother had not given her permission. So Laysa wasn’t sure what she would say in her testimony, but she went ahead. Then a miracle happened. “My mother was in church that day,” says Laysa. “I didn’t expect her to be there. That day, I got her permission to be baptized.”

Let me share the story of one of our most beautiful hymns, “Where Can I Turn for Peace?”
The poetess, Emma Lou Thayne, struggled for three years to help her oldest daughter through a severe mental illness. She’d done everything she could to find peace and help for a diagnosis she knew little about, calling it the “bleakest time I had ever known.”
In the midst of that heartache, Sister Thayne was asked by the Church to write music for a youth conference. One day, she retreated to a quiet room in the basement and penned these pleading, sacred words (in part):
“Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole? …
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.
He answers privately,
Reaches my reaching
In my Gethsemane, Savior and friend.
Gentle the peace he finds …
Constant he is and kind,
Love without end.” [18]
After writing those beautiful lyrics, Sister Thayne called her friend Jolene Meredith and asked her to compose the music. Sister Meredith had battled mental health struggles of her own. “She understood every word I’d written,” Sister Thayne recalled. “She sat at her piano … and as I read a line, she composed a line. By noon, we had our hymn.”
The two women privately referred to it as the “Mental Health Hymn”—and the Gethsemane they were both thinking of… included the mental suffering and emotional anguish that the Savior took upon Himself for all who suffer. [19]
What I love about this story is how these faithful women used their suffering for good!

About eight months into my mission in Brazil, I felt like the worst missionary ever. Nobody we were teaching was coming to church. It was difficult to find people who actually wanted to hear our message. We were striving to work hard and be obedient, but it didn’t seem to be paying off.
There was one day when I felt particularly down. We were searching for someone to teach, without luck, when a severe rainstorm rolled over us. The rain beat hard against our faces, and the sun faded behind huge black clouds. The streets quickly began to flood.
I couldn’t believe this was happening! Here we were, trying to be diligent, and not a soul was opening their door. Now, on top of that, we had a torrent of heavy rains to trudge through. It would be hard to find someone to teach in this awful weather. I just wanted to go back to the apartment, where it was dry and quiet. The storm got worse, so I suggested we go home.
But that didn’t feel right. The water was already to our calves, but a feeling came into my heart that we needed to keep walking. When I tried to ignore it, I remembered a line from our Missionary Handbook: “As you obey with a willing heart (see Doctrine and Covenants 64:34), you will show the Lord your love for Him” ([2010], 4).
Suddenly the warmth of God’s love filled my heart and made the cold, uncomfortable rain a little more bearable. I knew we needed to obey the prompting to show our love for Him, even if it was hard. So we kept walking.
The rain continued to pound as we knocked on dozens of doors. Most stayed closed. Some cracked open, only to shut seconds after. But we were determined to keep going. We even laughed as we splashed through the streets, realizing we were probably the only ones in the city crazy enough to be outside.
It was getting late when we came to a small, tin-roofed house. It was totally dark and appeared empty, but we knocked anyway. To our surprise, a woman answered and quickly invited us in to get shelter from the rain. We were so excited that someone had finally let us in!
The woman’s husband and two kids were there, and they smiled at us—apparently unbothered by the fact that we were dripping all over their floor. We introduced ourselves and asked if we could share a message about Jesus Christ, and they accepted.
The Spirit was present as we prayed with them and for them. They talked about the many struggles they’d had and how they felt a need to reconnect with God. There was a still, peaceful feeling that completely contradicted the violent tempest outside. It was the calm after the literal storm for us and, in many ways, the calm after a figurative storm for this family who had been through so much.
Throughout the next few days, I reflected on how silly it now seemed that I had thought my success as a missionary depended only on how many investigators came to church. What really mattered was helping people build relationships with God and find peace in Jesus Christ, even when they faced turbulent times. Doing this strengthened my own relationship with God.
I was transferred shortly after, and although I couldn’t keep teaching that family, I knew I’d always be grateful for the lesson I learned that night. The rainstorm had made me a better missionary and a better person.

In September of 1840, Joseph Smith, Sr. gathered his family around him. This venerable patriarch was dying and wanted to leave his blessing on his beloved wife and children. Hyrum, the eldest living son, asked his father to intercede with heaven when he arrived there so the enemies of the Church “may not have so much power” over the Latter-day Saints. Father Smith then laid his hands upon Hyrum’s head and blessed him to have “peace … sufficient … to accomplish the work which God has given you to do.” Knowing of Hyrum’s lifelong faithfulness, he concluded this last blessing with the promise that Hyrum would “be as firm as the pillars of heaven unto the end of [his] days.”

It’s tough to be the only member or active member in your family. It seems as if the ward is full of ideal families who have family home evening, prayers, and scripture reading—all of which you want to have too. Meanwhile, you sit alone at church or go with another family to the ward party. It’s not that you want to change families, but you want your family to change, because you love them and want eternal blessings for them: you don’t want to sit alone in the congregation in the hereafter. Yet you get discouraged when their answer to your pleas is no. At times you might even feel sorry for yourself. But always you cling to the hope that someday they will join. Susan also had that hope.
Susan, 16, is a pretty and talented girl, pretty because she’s self-assured, and talented because she’s self-motivated. Rather than cautiously and worriedly dipping her toes into the stream of life, she figuratively plunges in head first, perhaps becoming blue-lipped and spluttering for breath at first, but having a good time anyway. After her baptism three years ago, Susan aimed her efforts toward home: she wanted her father baptized.
“I knew if my father was baptized, mother would come into the Church, too. So that was my number one goal,” Susan recalled. “I thought I could accomplish it by myself because I knew my parents kinda liked me, so I reasoned they’d want to do this,” she said with bold confidence. “I tried everything,” she added more humbly.
“I tried being forceful, but that didn’t work. Then I tried making them feel sorry for me. I told them that I had to sit in church by myself and sing by myself, and that everybody else was with their families. That didn’t work either.”
Although she sometimes felt discouraged, Susan would not give in. “After I learned more about missionary work,” she continued, “I tried a different approach: I invited them to come to my church meetings. I gave talks in sacrament meeting, and mother would come. One time I sang in stake conference. I even got a new dress. Mother was going to come, but she got sick, so I went with no hope that either mother or father would be there. We were singing our song when I looked at the back of the chapel and saw my father coming through the door. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t because I had to sing.
“Another time that father came with me was at the ward father-daughter social. While we were sitting there eating our breakfast, I looked at father, and the thought came to me that someday he was going to be baptized. Right in the middle of the meal, I knew it, and I wanted it more than anything.”
But the baptism didn’t happen overnight, and Susan learned more about missionary work. “I knew I couldn’t do it by myself,” she admitted.
One day while walking home from school, Susan saw two parked bicycles on her street and two missionaries knocking on someone’s door. The missionaries had been to Susan’s home five times before. Usually they had just come once. But Susan wouldn’t let that block her new excitement. Maybe this time her father was ready.
“I had hoped the missionaries wouldn’t get in to the house they were knocking at because I wanted to talk to them. They didn’t, so I told them about my father. They told me that they had prayed that morning about where they should tract and were sent to my street. I think the Lord knew that my father was ready to hear the gospel. Whether anyone else knew it or not, the Lord knew it, and that is all that matters.”
But all wasn’t perfect and easy. There were times when Susan got very discouraged, wondering why things weren’t happening faster. “Then I would have to remember that getting ready for baptism was a slow process for me also. I would look around and see other young people who sat by themselves in church or whose circumstances seemed worse than mine, but they didn’t seem discouraged. Their example helped me to stop feeling sorry for myself.”
Meanwhile, realizing that her example was crucial, Susan also reaped one of the blessings of missionary work—that of preparing and growing herself.
“I had to be as ready as father did. I had to do a lot of praying, some fasting, and even some repenting. I realized that missionary work is love and service, that it is telling your mom and father you love them even if your little brother and sister are listening. I also tried to follow the missionaries’ example of showing love for father.
The missionaries came to Susan’s home seven times over a five-month period. Each time she could tell that her father was getting closer.
“One night in April I went for my birthday interview with the bishop. Father came to pick me up after.” Susan continued mischievously, “I hid down the hall so he would have to come in and find me. When he came into the church, he asked if he could see the bishop alone. He was in there for about 30 minutes, and I was out in the foyer wondering what in the world they were talking about!
“On the way home I was anxious to hear what happened in his meeting. All of a sudden father said, ‘Well, Susie, I guess I’ll get baptized.’ I just sat there. I wanted to cry, but I knew I shouldn’t because father doesn’t like us to get emotional. All I said was, ‘Oh, I think that’s wonderful.’ That was kind of a silly thing to say, but what do you say when your biggest goal has just been realized?”
Susan’s father was baptized on April 14th.
But Susan realizes that her missionary work isn’t over yet. “I still get impatient and discouraged at times, but I’ve come to realize that becoming a celestial family is a step-by-step process. And I must understand my parents. I try to do my part. When I’m spiritually low, it shows in the home. So I try to keep my testimony strong by doing what I’m supposed to do; I feel better when I do.”
Susan has learned a lot about missionary work, mostly through trial and error. She has learned that timing and responses are different for different people, that force and pity aren’t successful, that true service is far more important than just talking about service, that the Spirit must touch the person’s life, and that desire—well, as for desire, Susan isn’t lacking; she keeps on trying, regardless of mistakes, to boldly live the gospel, although it’s sometimes awkward, frightening, and even downright hard.
But positively, Susan summed it up: “My father wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Church 20 years ago, but after going through a lot of visits from our home teachers, and after many different sets of missionaries, and after he had a daughter who wouldn’t leave him alone—my father is a member of the Church.”
And when asked about her recent goals, Susan enthusiastically replied, “To have family home evening, family prayer, and to be sealed in the temple to my family—that’s my number one goal now!”

Feleti likes to have fun, but he is a hard worker too. He sometimes goes to the plantation with his dad and big cousins. They dig up ‘ufi (yams) and pick enough coconuts on the weekend to last them through the next week. For New Year’s Day they dig a lot of ‘ufi for a big feast that their family prepares each year for their neighbors and family members. Feleti’s family and friends feast on roast pig, ‘ufi, fish, and bread.

An illustration of this truth was shared in a story told by President Harold B. Lee:
[A] traveler was leaving by boat from Stockholm, Sweden, traveling out into the Baltic Sea. To do so, the boat had to pass through a thousand or more islands. Standing on the forward deck, the traveler found himself becoming impatient because of what seemed to him to be a careless course. Why not a course near to this island or another and more interesting than the one the pilot had chosen? Almost in exasperation he was saying to himself, "What's wrong with the old pilot? Has he lost his sense of direction?" Suddenly he was aware of markers along the charted course that appeared as mere broom handles sticking up in the water. Someone had carefully explored these channels and had charted the safest course for ships to take.
President Lee continued,
So it is in life's course on the way to immortality and eternal life: "God's engineers," by following a blueprint made in heaven, have charted the course for safest and happiest passage and have forewarned us of the danger areas.[19]
When we follow the prophet, our course will lead us safely back home.