Gospel Story Finder

One need look no further than to the many missionaries who have labored in that part of the world, who in obedience to the Lord accepted a call from His prophet to serve a mission. It was said by the Apostle Peter long ago that Jesus went about doing good. As His ambassadors, missionaries in our generation have gone and continue to go throughout the world doing good in the true spirit of the Master. Let me describe one of them. He is typical of so many others who sincerely desire to serve the Lord.
He came from California and grew up in an ordinary sort of way, not a member of the Church. He became acquainted with a girl who was a member of the Church. He was so impressed with her that, on learning that she was a member of the Church, he wished to know more. Latter-day Saint students at the university taught him the gospel while he was completing a difficult scholastic program. He was baptized. Then, working nights and summers, he saved money enough to sustain him, if he spent it with care, for a period of eighteen months as a missionary. He was called to Guatemala. He was a handsome young man with a brilliant mind and a wonderful education in a highly technical field. I met him in the Guatemala City Temple. He grasped my hand warmly. I asked, “Are you happy?”
“Oh yes, so very happy,” he responded. I asked where he was working as a missionary. He said, “Out among the Lamanites, the native people of Guatemala. It is a very small place where there is much hardship, but the people are wonderful, and I love them.”
As I have thought of that tall and handsome young man, gifted and educated, working among the Indians of Guatemala in a jungle village, I have remembered the words of Samuel the Lamanite:
“Yea, I say unto you, that in the latter times the promises of the Lord have been extended to our brethren, the Lamanites; and notwithstanding the many afflictions which they shall have, and notwithstanding they shall be driven to and fro upon the face of the earth, and be hunted, and shall be smitten and scattered abroad, having no place for refuge, the Lord shall be merciful unto them.
“And this is according to the prophecy, that they shall again be brought to the true knowledge, which is the knowledge of their Redeemer, and their great and true shepherd, and be numbered among his sheep.” (Hel. 15:12–13.)
This young missionary, with his associates, was bringing to those among whom he walked “the true knowledge, which is the knowledge of their Redeemer, and their great and true shepherd,” that they might be numbered among His sheep.
This particular young man received no letters from his parents, no money, no encouragement. He had sufficient money, which he had saved, to support himself for eighteen months. Because his mission was ending when we were lengthening missions from eighteen months to twenty-four, he had the option of remaining an additional six months. He asked his mission president with emotion, “Is there some way I can get help to stay another six months to work among these people I have come to love so much?” A person was found to help pay for his expenses, and the missionary was able to serve a full twenty-four months.
There are others like him, thousands today working in many lands, who, in the spirit of the Lord, are going about doing great good.

Once again I am grateful for the experiences of my childhood and the lessons I learned. When I was 8 years old my parents bought us a snow cone machine. When they came home with this glorious invention and plugged it in, my family and I watched with anticipation as the ice was crushed into fine powder right before my eyes. My mouth began to salivate as I thought to myself, “Snow cones anytime we want. Mom and dad you’re the best!!” That was before I realized there was a catch. Not only would we be eating the snow cones, we would be selling them to. Now let me paint a picture for you. Imagine the summer months in Mesa, Arizona. On average the temperature would rise to 110 degrees. My siblings and I mounted a three wheeled bike with a large basket attached in the back, a cooler filled with crushed ice, the stickiest syrup you can imagine, oh, and don’t forget a whistle to blow to let everyone know we were coming. We were told to head to the ball fields, where we spent many hours in the hot sun selling these snow cones. Today they have child labor laws, but back them I think the motto was, “Anything that doesn’t kill them will make them stronger. This experience taught me to work and work hard. It made every subsequent job seem like a piece a cake. NO job was beneath me, as long as it was in an air- conditioned room. It instilled a work habit that enabled me to assist in supporting my family especially during those early years of marriage when the jobs we had were nothing to brag about.

All it took was a call to Gary’s Creek Missionary Baptist Church in Tennessee for Chris Collier to find the perfect Eagle Scout project.
Chris, a member of the Memphis First Ward, Memphis North Stake, says, a little nervously, “This is something that’s never been done before.” Gary’s Creek church asked him to document its cemetery—the oldest black cemetery in Shelby County.
Chris first needs to meet everyone involved and decide how much help he will need on the project. He drives to Gary’s Creek Cemetery on a road paved over the old stagecoach line. As soon as he steps out of the car, he has to swat at a mosquito. It’s the height of Tennessee heat in August, and it’s so humid you can practically drink the air. But that isn’t going to stop Chris.
There’s a group waiting for him at the gate to the cemetery. Mr. Lacy, who has many ancestors buried here, greets Chris. “This cemetery is a gold mine for genealogists,” Mr. Lacy tells Chris as he adjusts his wide-brimmed hat. “Think of all those people’s stories buried under the ground.” Mr. Lacy has uncovered the story of one of his ancestors buried here—Joseph H. Harris, better known as “Free Joe.” He wrote two books about Free Joe’s adventures and is turning them into a Hollywood screenplay.
Chris walks through the cemetery with his notebook and camera. The huge trees’ heavy branches droop in the heat, and thick emerald grass covers some of the grave markers completely. There are all types of people buried here, from tiny babies to Civil War veterans. Some of the markers are simple rusty spikes in the ground; others have hand-carved names in aged, chipped stones. Nobody can tell what they say, except for the caretaker, Mr. Brooks.
Mr. Brooks has been caretaker of Gary’s Creek Cemetery since 1939. He moves slowly around the cemetery with the help of his cane and quietly points out different grave markers to Chris. Mr. Brooks is the only one who knows the names on and locations of all the graves. His father was caretaker before him.
“I used to walk around the cemetery with my father while he helped me memorize the graves,” Mr. Brooks says. Many of the graves are unmarked, and the only documentation is in Mr. Brooks’s memory. If Mr. Brooks dies, the information dies with him. Chris isn’t going to let that happen.
Leslie Louthain, the director of the LDS family history center in the area, and her husband are also here to help. She gives Chris tips on how to put all the information in a database. He’ll give one copy to the Gary’s Creek church and send one to the Church’s Family History Library in Salt Lake City.
Sister Louthain thoughtfully examines a grave marker near the woods until she discovers there is more than family history in this cemetery.
“There are snakes in those trees!” she shrieks. Her husband laughs, and she heads for higher ground.
As Chris wraps up his first visit, he sighs. “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. This one cemetery could be a lot of separate projects,” he says. But he isn’t afraid to plunge in anyway.
Chris doesn’t feel so overwhelmed when he comes back with a big group of teens to help him. The ladies from Gary’s Creek church provide lunch, and it isn’t as hot, because now it’s well into autumn.
Chris divides up the teens into groups to document the graves, with the help of Mr. Lacy and Mr. Brooks, of course. You can barely tell who belongs to which church because everyone is mixed together, trying to get all the information recorded.
As Chris wraps it all up, everyone is pleased. The members of Gary’s Creek church can rest easy, knowing the information in their vast cemetery has been preserved, and Chris’s group can be satisfied knowing they’ve helped preserve information for future family history work.
The cemetery seems a little more peaceful now, thanks to Chris, because the richness of its history won’t be lost. Who knows what stories might later be uncovered?
As Chris takes a reflective look around the cemetery, Mr. Lacy says, “Family history is going to be what brings religions and races together.” And in his little corner of Tennessee, Chris helped do just that.

“One night when I was sixteen years old, Father gave a Christmas party for his own children and their families and the nearest neighbors. We danced. My brothers were the musicians. We knew it was Father’s aim to end the party at ten o’clock, which he did right in the middle of a square-dance by ordering the musicians to stop. But Father didn’t know that my brothers had lifted me up to the clock many times that night. Each time I turned it back thirty minutes. It must have been past midnight when the party broke up.”

From Christian Olsen family records, in Carter, Our Pioneer Heritage, 15:199.

A dear family friend passed away a few years ago. He and his wife enjoyed hiking together in the mountains. One fall afternoon, they hiked several miles up a steep mountainside to a beautiful waterfall. While descending the trail, several hikers making the climb upward asked the question, “Is it worth it?” Our friends’ reply was always in the affirmative. Later, they observed that the effort was worth it only if you enjoyed the fresh air, alpine beauty, exercise, and loving companionship.

He had not thought about the law of tithing, however, in his biblical study of Christ’s ancient church. It seemed a hard thing to give up one tenth of his income in his family’s difficult financial situation. “I don’t know if we can pay the tithing. Let’s wait until the Lord helps us (to be capable of paying), and then we will become members,” he told his wife.
His children and his wife helped him change his mind about putting off baptism. Daughter Angelina, then a teenager, had become convinced that the Church was true and wanted to join. She suggested to her mother that they plan a special birthday gift for her father—they would be baptized on his birthday, with him.
Ignacia Perez was not hard to convince. She had had a dream of her own. In it, a young man offered her a cup from which she was to drink. When she attended a sacrament meeting with her husband for the first time, at Angelina’s urging, Ignacia realized the cup in her dream had been a sacrament cup.
So she and the children studied the gospel with the missionaries, until finally she was ready to tell her husband, “We have a gift we want to give you for your birthday—but I have to tell you because it requires your consent.” He quickly gave permission, deciding then that they would simply find a way to pay tithing. He soon found it was not the difficulty he had imagined.
Ricardo and Ignacia Perez and their three oldest children—Angelina, Jorge, and Teresa—were baptized 26 January 1954. Their sons Israel and Victor were too young yet to be baptized, and their youngest son, Josue Ricardo, was not born until after the Perez family had been in the Church for three years.

One of the greatest examples we have of someone who has humbly sought the Lord’s guidance in fulfilling his mortal mission is President Hinckley. Sister Sheri L. Dew, in the preface to her biography of President Hinckley, writes of one of her early meetings with the prophet. She met with him after he had read the first third of the manuscript.

After an uncomfortable pause, . . . he began: “I am sick, sick, sick of reading about Gordon Hinckley. There is just too much about Gordon Hinckley in this manuscript.” I groped for a response. “Whom did you want me to write about in your biography?” came to mind, but I couldn’t think of a respectful way to phrase the question so I remained silent.

Then I had my first exposure to a mini-sermon he would repeat at least a dozen times during succeeding months. “Adulation is poison,” he said, emphasizing each word. “Adulation has ruined many a good man and woman, and I don’t want this book to portray me as something I’m not.” I finally replied: “President, I can see that we have just one small problem here. You want me to write a book that says you are just a common, ordinary man.” “Well, I am,” he interrupted. [Sheri L. Dew, Go Forward with Faith: The Biography of Gordon B. Hinckley (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1996), pp. ix–xvi; emphasis in original]

Sister Dew then explains in the preface that she never found anything “to support his claim that he is a common, ordinary man” (p. x). She notes that by the time he became president of the Church, President Hinckley had served nearly 60 years at Church headquarters. After 38 years of service as a General Authority, and 15 of those years in the First Presidency, his influence in missionary work, temple building, and public affairs is now recognized. President James E. Faust, his second counselor, said that perhaps no man who has become president of the Church has been more extensively or better prepared to lead the Saints than President Hinckley. Sister Dew concludes:

Indeed, there is no hyperbole in stating that President Hinckley has influenced the onward march of the gospel kingdom in a way paralleled by few others. And in the process, he has molded a life worthy of emulation. [Dew, Go Forward, p. xi]

President Hinckley has lived his life according to one simple maxim: “The only way to get anything done is to get on your knees and ask for the Lord’s help, and then get to your feet and go to work” (Dew, Go Forward, p. x). I believe the prophet sees himself as an ordinary man—one who has only done the work the Lord has asked of him the best he could. If only we would go and do the same.

When I lived in Virginia, I served in the Young Women. We had an exceptional group of youth. One of them, Lucy, had moved with her family to the United States from Kenya.
Lucy had, on this one occasion, gathered up the youth in the ward and enough parents and leaders to provide rides to attend the monthly tri-stake dance. At the dance, as I was watching the youth, a high councilor from the host stake stopped by to visit. As we were visiting, he pointed to a young man, sitting on the side of the dance floor with his head in his hands. That priesthood leader was the home teacher of the young man and he shared his story with me. After he left, I was determined to help the young man, so I moved toward the youth from my ward to bring the young man to their attention. Before I could get there, out from the group emerged Lucy, and walking halfway across the cultural hall, she came up to the young man, tapped him on the shoulder, and asked him to dance. He seemed startled for a bit, but got to his feet and went to dance. I watched that young man all night and never again was he sitting by himself on the sidelines.
But let me tell you the rest of the story. His home teacher told me that he had been in a serious accident and had been in a coma for several months. He had only recently recovered, but was still struggling, in the words of the home teacher, to "come out of his cave" socially. The home teacher knew that his parents had forced him to come to the dance to try to help him in his recovery. And what did lovely Lucy do? She looked, saw someone isolated and not participating, and reached out across the distance to include him. Could I have imagined I would be in such a place to see this precious gift?
I wrote an email message to Lucy to ask her permission to use this story and to get her picture. She replied to me this morning and said she didn't know about this story. Of course she didn't know the story about the young man; she just asked from her heart because she has a compassionate heart. Lucy graduated last week from Southern Virginia University.

Daughter Maja (Mrs. Paul Wensel) remembers that her father’s approach to discipline was always to reason with her, never to threaten. He would often say, “Jesus would do something different.”
“Once when I broke a window, he came out and calmly said, ‘You’ve done something wrong, and you need to do something so that you can understand that you can’t do this.’ Then he asked what kind of penalty I thought would be fair. As a result, I never felt rebellious.” In fact, the Busches found that the children would usually assign themselves stricter penalties than their parents would have.

Part of the Andean flood lore includes references to the rainbow as the symbol between god and man that there will never again be a universal deluge on the earth. At least two references to this tradition can be found among the Spanish writings. The following from Cabello Balboa, written in 1586, describes the Brothers Ayar as they went forth to found the city of Cuzco.
“They came to a hill that today is called Guanacauria and one day at dawn they saw the bow, or rainbow of the heavens that came to the foot of the same hill, and Mango Capac told the rest that it was a good sign that the world would not be destroyed any more by water, and that they should follow him and climb the hill, and from there they would see the place where they were to settle.”11
A similar version dating from 1572 is found in the work of Molina:
“The brothers Ayar climbed to the summit, and there they saw the rainbow of the heavens, which the natives call Guanacauri, and Manco Capaca said to them, ‘Hold this as a sign, that the world will never be destroyed again by water.’”12

Some time ago, a friend and I applied for an educational program. I was confident I would be selected. When the results came out, I was disappointed that my friend was selected but I was not. I felt wronged because I thought I deserved to be selected more than my friend.
At that moment, I saw my friend as an opponent or someone who had taken something that belonged to me. A few days later, while studying Jacob 2 in the Book of Mormon, I read how Jacob had rebuked his people for their sins. One of those sins was pride.
Jacob’s teachings made me realize that I was committing the sin of pride toward my friend by thinking I deserved something given to him. Jacob’s words were a revelation to me:
“Let not this pride of your hearts destroy your souls!
“Think of your brethren like unto yourselves” (Jacob 2:16–17).
I prayed to Heavenly Father to forgive me and to help me avoid the sin of pride in the future. Then I spoke to my friend about how I had felt and asked him to forgive me. I felt peace and joy in doing so and in receiving forgiveness from him and from Heavenly Father.

One day while on a mission in Scotland, David O. McKay was walking around Stirling Castle with his companion, Peter G. Johnson. He said it was at the beginning of his mission, and on that day he had been snubbed while tracting. He was discouraged and homesick. He noticed a building that was half-finished. There was an inscription above the front door, carved in stone, that became a motto for his life: “What E’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part” (see CR, October 1954, p. 83).
And so let us find godliness and contentment in what we have and who and where we are at this time in our eternity. Let us add our part the best we can.

Aubrey unzipped her polka-dot backpack and picked up the Book of Mormon that was lying on her bed.
“Are you almost ready?” Mom called.
“Almost!” Aubrey said.
She put the book carefully inside her backpack and knelt down.
“Heavenly Father, please help me find someone to give this to,” she prayed.
Last week the missionaries had given Aubrey’s family the challenge to give someone a Book of Mormon, and Aubrey had felt that she could help. Aubrey finished her prayer and walked into the living room.
“OK, let’s go!” Mom said.
Aubrey jumped into the backseat of the van. She was excited to be going to the temple again with Mom and Dad. She was just old enough to participate in baptisms for the dead, and she loved the peaceful feeling she got inside the temple. This time, though, she was also excited to share the gospel with someone.
But finding someone was harder than Aubrey thought it would be. The drive took three hours, but Dad didn’t stop anywhere except at a gas station, and Aubrey stayed inside the van. At the temple, everyone already knew about the Book of Mormon. Afterward, when Mom and Dad took Aubrey to a restaurant and a bookstore, Aubrey didn’t feel the Spirit telling her to share the Book of Mormon with anyone she saw.
When she got in the van to head home, Aubrey felt a little sad. But she knew that if she kept praying, someday the Lord would help her to be a missionary.
Then suddenly Dad pulled the van over. They were having car trouble.
“We’ll pull into this gas station and see if we can find help,” Dad said.
As he parked, a big white truck with a flat tire pulled up beside them. A woman got out of the truck and looked at her tire. Aubrey saw how sad she looked. The Spirit whispered that this was someone Aubrey could share the gospel with.
Aubrey got out to watch Dad help the woman change her tire. The woman said she had recently gotten divorced. She didn’t know if her children would be able to live with her. Aubrey ran to the van and pulled the Book of Mormon out of her backpack.
“Mom, will you give this to that lady?” Aubrey asked.
Mom smiled. “That’s a good idea, but I think you should give it to her.”
Aubrey felt a little shy. But then she remembered how she felt when she read the Book of Mormon. She wanted the woman to have that good feeling too.
Aubrey walked over to Dad just as the woman was getting back into her truck.
“Wait! I thought you might want to read this. It’s my favorite book, and I know it’s true,” Aubrey said.
The woman looked a little surprised, but she smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and she took the book.
Aubrey went back to the van feeling relieved. She climbed inside and told Mom what happened.
“I’m glad you prayed to be a missionary,” Mom said. “Now let’s pray for help so we can get home safely.”
“Yes,” Aubrey agreed, “because prayer works.”

“Although the pageant was cancelled last year, we still had auditions and a workshop. I loved being part of the community of the pageant, it really felt as if we were one big family sharing love and faith. Living on the temple grounds was fantastic and I felt the Spirit very strongly. We camped on a site nearby, until one night we got flooded out and were blessed when local members asked us to come and stay with them.
“The directors are amazing; it’s not all about speaking with the perfect accent, flawless singing, absolutely perfect dancing—although it is all very professional—it’s more about the feeling. The people whom we depict in the pageant story knew what they were doing. The miracle was that ordinary people were transformed into a supportive community of faith and love, and that is what has been reproduced as the cast members come together to depict this awe-inspiring story. We too are ordinary people meeting together, often as strangers in the beginning, and creating a community of faith and trust.”
Lizzie will play the part of Sarah Ashton, the eldest daughter of the main character, Arthur Ashton. In the story he loses his wife, and the pageant tells of his journey of doubt, belief and faith. Lizzie explains that like many people, she has experienced grief in her family, but has been uplifted by focusing on the promises of the temple, finding comfort in the knowledge that families can be together forever, which Lizzie calls the linchpin of her faith.
“The story is about the hope that the temple gives, and it is wonderful to be a part of this special event; I can’t wait!”

A turning point for me came during a deacons quorum class in Spanish Fork, Utah, when I was 12. The lesson was on missionary work, and to me the lesson seemed pointless, because I wasn’t going on a mission. But as I sat there, a clear voice in my head asked, “Travis, what if it’s not just about you?” This simple question shifted my perspective. A mission, I realized, was about what God wanted me to do, not just what I wanted. A mission wasn’t solely about blessings for me, but also about being a blessing to others.

In the Rose Bowl football game of 1929, a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the wrong goal line. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own teammates, thus preventing a score for the other team. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

I am the oldest of five children—four girls and one boy. In 2022 my brother, Houston, suffered a heart attack. Unfortunately he was not found right away, and his long-term lack of oxygen caused a brain injury. Over the days we spent with him in the intensive care unit, I can safely say that I have never prayed harder or exercised more faith. And yet, day by day, Houston got worse, and eventually we were told that he would not live. It was hard to accept that despite the faith and prayers of so many wonderful people, we were going to lose Houston. And yet we did. My heart was broken.

But pain and sadness and faith can coexist. I and many others fought all the anticipatory fears of losing Houston and facing life without him with as much faith as we could muster. We kept praying, kept hoping, and kept trusting that God knew Houston’s path even when we could no longer see the miracle we were hoping for.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said:
There are so many things in life that God sees differently than we do. . . .
We tend to think of joy as the absence of sorrow.
But what if joy is not the absence of sorrow?
What if joy and sorrow can coexist?
What if they have to coexist?22
The pain of losing my brother helped me to seek peace and to solidify my faith in the covenants I had made with God and the promises that came with them. My sorrow solidified and increased my joy and belief in the Atonement and Resurrection. I could act with the hope that my brother could be restored completely. I know that in those great moments of pain, it can seem impossible that joy could coexist. It may not be the joy we hoped we could experience had the miracle we prayed for been granted, but God does not leave us alone.

When I first saw Aaron, he made me uneasy, even a bit scared because he was so … well, different. I had never really been around anyone like Aaron.
At Madison School, Mrs. Wood’s kids with special needs—we called them “SN kids”—had their classroom down the hall from Mrs. Parrick’s fifth grade room. The first day of school, as Mrs. Parrick lined us up to go to the cafeteria, Mrs. Wood marched down the hall with the SN kids—Paula, the girl in the wheelchair; Carlos, the Down’s syndrome boy with the funny grin; Maggie, the girl with the braces and twisted legs; Charles, the chubby boy who never smiled or spoke; and Aaron.
I had seen Aaron a couple times before because his family moved into our ward a few weeks before school started, I remember staring at him as his mom and dad brought him into the church. He was grinning and grunting and mumbling things that nobody could understand. Although he was about my age, he couldn’t talk, and Mom told me later that his mind would never grow up, that he would never be able to talk like other kids.
When Aaron passed me in the hall that first day of school, he stopped in front of me and grinned. I felt uneasy and embarrassed, even a little afraid. I looked at the floor, hoping he would disappear down the hall, but he reached out, pushed me, and shouted something I didn’t understand. All the kids in my class laughed, and my cheeks burned as Mrs. Wood led him on down the hall.
“What a weirdo,” Paul snickered behind me. “Watch out, Ben—you’ll get bugs from him.”
“Why did Heavenly Father make someone like Aaron?” I asked Mom that evening.
Mom thought for a moment. “Well, Benjamin, he’s a child of God too. Heavenly Father loves him as much as He loves any of His children.”
“I didn’t figure that He didn’t love him.” I fidgeted with the salt and pepper shakers. “But if He loves Aaron, why did He make him so different?”
Mom thought for a long time. “I’m not sure we’ll ever know why some of God’s children are born with such special needs. But He does love them, and He wants us to love them too.”
“How can you love someone like Aaron? I mean, you can’t play with him because he doesn’t know how to play. You can’t be friends with him because he doesn’t even know you. I bet he doesn’t even know who his teacher, Mrs. Wood, is.”
“Benjamin, I think you’d be surprised by how much Aaron knows. Not about math or reading or science but about people and about how much they care for him.”
I didn’t know if I believed everything Mom told me, but every day at school, I watched Aaron as he went down the hall, ate his lunch in the cafeteria, or charged crazily around the playground during recess. Always alone.
Most of the kids in my class laughed at him. When he came around, they ran away screaming, like some monster was after them. They said that anyone who hung around him would get cooties. It was all a game. For them.
I especially didn’t like going to the cafeteria because wherever I sat, I found myself watching Aaron eat his lunch in a kind of daze, sometimes spilling down his front, always smearing his food across his face, even when Mrs. Wood was there to help him. I felt sorry for him eating alone, but I didn’t dare get close to him. I didn’t want the other kids to talk about me like they talked about him.
One day I finished my math early, and Mrs. Parrick called me up to her desk and asked me to take a note to Mrs. Wood.
My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry as I pushed open the heavy door of the SN room. Mrs. Wood was on the other side of the room, working with Paula. Aaron was at a corner table, stacking huge plastic blocks. He watched me rush across the room and hand the note to Mrs. Wood.
I turned to charge from the room, but Mrs. Wood stopped me. “Wait, young man. Let me write an answer for you to take to Mrs. Parrick.”
I stood beside Mrs. Wood, staring at the floor and poking my fists deep into my pockets. Suddenly a cool hand touched my arm. I jumped and turned. Aaron stood there, grinning and staring. As I backed up, he touched me again.
“Aaron just wants to play,” Mrs. Wood said, smiling. “When you have some time, you’ll have to come down and play with the children. They love visitors.”
I wasn’t supposed to run in the halls, but as soon as I was out the door, I ran back to my classroom. I wanted to get as far from that SN room as I could.
“I don’t ever want to go in there again,” I told Mom that evening. “It gives me the creeps. They’re so different. I don’t know what to do around them.”
“Benjamin, Heavenly Father would be very happy if you would show real kindness and love to those special children.”
“I don’t know how to be kind to them. And I sure don’t want everybody thinking I’m one of them.”
The next Sunday in Primary, Sister Roth told us about how Jesus had loved and been kind to everyone, even to people who were sick, crippled, dirty, or wicked. He reached out and cared for them all. Just the way she told the stories made me want to be like Jesus. Then she challenged us to help someone in need, like Jesus did.
I thought of Aaron. Not because I wanted to. I wanted to be kind to someone normal. I didn’t care if that someone was sick or dirty, but I didn’t want to help someone who made me feel uncomfortable. That week I did everything I could to stay away from Aaron. I didn’t want to even think about him.
On Friday I got to the cafeteria late, and all the tables were filled—except the one where Aaron sat alone. I frantically looked for a table where I might crowd in.
Then I remembered Sister Roth. I thought of Jesus Christ. And I knew that more than anything else, Jesus would want me to sit by Aaron. I wanted to refuse, but I couldn’t.
I walked toward him, sure that every eye in the cafeteria was on me. “Hi, Aaron,” I rasped. I set my tray next to his and sat with my head down so that I wouldn’t have to look at anyone. Aaron stared at me for a moment. Then he grunted something and held his pizza in front of my face. I nodded. “Yeah, it looks good.”
He shouted and touched me with his other hand. It was covered with pizza sauce, and I had to use my napkin to wipe it from my arm.
When I looked up, I saw Marni at the next table. She’d just moved into town and started school here on Tuesday. She was a very nice girl, and I’d been happy when she was assigned to my class. She was staring at me as I sat next to Aaron. I could feel my cheeks and ears burning, but there was nothing I could do except stay there and eat my lunch.
The best way to keep from noticing the staring eyes was to concentrate on my own lunch and to help Aaron. I helped him cut his pizza into small pieces. I used a napkin to wipe his face. When he knocked his carton of milk over, I helped him clean it up. When it was time to dump our trays, I helped him carry his.
Then he disappeared outside! I hotfooted it toward a different door.
“Benjamin?” Marni was standing there. “Benjamin, I think … well, I think you’re the most wonderful boy in this whole school!” Then she scurried past me to the playground.
“Do you like eating with that weirdo?” Paul snickered as he brushed by.
Later, while I was working on a science project, Marni came over to my table. Usually I don’t talk to girls because they make me nervous. I couldn’t think of anything to say then, either, so I just sat there and pretended that one of the nicest girls in the whole school wasn’t standing next to me.
“Is that boy in the cafeteria a friend of yours?” she asked.
“I know him a bit. His name is Aaron.”
“I have a cousin like Aaron.” Marni looked down at the table. “He’s not exactly like Aaron, but …” She pressed her lips together. “I like David—that’s my cousin’s name. Once you know him, he’s really a neat kid. But he’s different. Ever since coming here, I’ve watched Aaron because he reminds me of David.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she confided, “Benjamin, that was a brave thing you did today.”
I coughed. “It wasn’t anything.”
We were still talking—not just about Aaron and David but about lots of things—when Mrs. Parrick came over. “Benjamin, Mrs. Wood wondered if you’d like to work with her students for a few minutes this afternoon.”
Paul, who was sitting at the next table, grinned and muttered, “Benjamin’s getting so he really likes those retards.”
Mrs. Parrick was starting to scold him, when Marni asked, “Could I go with Benjamin?”
Paul’s mouth dropped open, and Mrs. Parrick apparently decided she didn’t need to say anything more to him. She just told Marni that Mrs. Wood would be delighted.
Marni and I were both a little nervous, but as we worked and played with all the kids—not just Aaron—the jitters left us, and I realized that I was actually having fun.
The following Monday at lunchtime, Marni and I sat on either side of Aaron and helped him with his lunch and talked to him, even though he didn’t understand anything we said. By the end of the week, lots of kids sat at Aaron’s table. Even Paul came over on Friday and squeezed in between Aaron and Marni.
In the afternoons, if I finished my work, Mrs. Parrick let me go to Mrs. Wood’s room for a few minutes. Sometimes Marni went with me. Sometimes I went alone. One day Randy, who sat behind me, asked, “Can I go with Benjamin today? I’m finished with my work.”
It was funny how, after a few weeks, our class kind of adopted Mrs. Wood’s class. If we were working on an art project or having a class program, we invited them to come to our room. At recess Aaron would hang around while my class played football or soccer. He didn’t know how to play, but he chased around the field and shouted and laughed like he was part of the game.
“I saw Mrs. Wood in the store this afternoon,” Mom told me one evening. “She said that you’ve become great friends with Aaron.”
I smiled. “He’s fun. He doesn’t make me nervous anymore. I still don’t think he knows me, though. I’m just some kid to him, like all the others.”
“But Heavenly Father knows you and knows how kind you’ve been to Aaron.”
The next Sunday I was walking down the hall at church, when I heard a shout. I turned and saw Aaron charging toward me. His mother was down the hall, struggling to catch up to him. Laughing wildly, he crashed into me and threw his arms around my neck. When his mother reached us, Aaron pushed away, jabbed his finger against my chest, and grinned at his mother.
For a moment she just stood there. Then a huge smile covered her face. “You must be the boy at school! We’ve known for some time that Aaron had someone very special at school. He can’t exactly tell us things like that, but we knew that there was someone. You must be Aaron’s very special friend.” Her face was beaming, and tears wet her cheeks.
Aaron stopped pointing and wrapped his arms around me again. I felt a strange, happy warmth spread over my body, and tears jiggled in my own eyes as I wriggled loose and put my arm around the shoulders of my special friend Aaron.

Sam John could hardly wait until class was over so he could talk with President Murphy. He had a very important question to ask—one that he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
At first Sam had gone to Brother Murphy’s classes because he liked being with the older boys and girls who attended. Then he kept going because of the lovely music. Finally he realized that what he enjoyed more than anything else was the feeling he had when he listened to Brother Murphy’s teachings.
Now he had to know if these things were really true. So Sam John waited patiently until almost everyone had left the class. Then he went up to the white-haired man to ask if he could talk with him alone.
A bench under a spreading tree made a perfect place for Sam to ask his teacher the important question. “Brother Murphy,” he began, “are these things you have told us about Jesus and Joseph Smith really true?”
The man looked down, surprised that a boy only eight years old could be so serious and sincere. Then he took the boy’s hand, looked into his eyes, and asked a question in return. “Sam,” he said, “do you think Sister Murphy and I and all the other missionaries who have been to these classes would spend money to come to Hawaii and take our precious time to tell you these things if we did not know they are true?”
Without hesitation, Sam answered, “I believe these things, too, and I want to be baptized into your church.”
“And what about your father?” Brother Murphy asked. Sam had to admit that he didn’t think his father would be very happy with his son’s interest in the Church, but he promised to talk to him.
A few days later Sam John’s father, a Chinese-Hawaiian, went to the mission home. “What is this you have been teaching my son?” he demanded. “He even wants to become a member of your church.”
“Mr. John,” President Murphy answered. “I’m glad you’ve come to talk with me. There is nothing we’ve taught Sam that you should not also know, especially since your boy wants to be baptized.”
The next night Sam’s father returned to the mission home to be taught, and the next, and the next.
Sam could hardly believe it when a few weeks later his father suggested that Sam wait a short time to be baptized so that he and Sam’s older brother could be baptized too. His mother had become a member of the Church when she was a little girl but she had never been active in it.
Now we are united as a family, Sam thought after he and his father and brother were baptized. And it seemed as if his heart would burst with happiness.

One evening, I met with my boss to discuss my situation and the goal I wanted to achieve (i.e. serving a full-time mission). After listening to me, he set a condition: If I would forgo my dream and stay with him, he would do everything for me. I knew he could do that. He had good intentions when he set this condition. He was very close to me, and I had become like a son to him. He trusted me more than some of his brothers. For me, the Savior‘s call was the most important thing. I, therefore, declined the offer. He even sent people to plead with me, but it was all in vain because I was determined to serve a mission.

Finally, I went to Abidjan to apply for my passport, during the COVID-19 pandemic. Along the way, we had to get off the bus and walk for miles to cross certain areas. We even had to walk through the forest during the trip.
There were all sorts of issues with getting a passport, but by God’s grace, I got mine.
After about a year of working on my mission application, I gave it to my bishop to submit it to the stake president. To my utter surprise, my bishop lost the file containing my passport and medical records. This was a huge ordeal for me. That night, I got on my knees and cried my heart out, pleading with God to make it possible for us to find the file. After my prayer, I told Heavenly Father that if we did not find the file, I would work on another application no matter how long it would take.
A few weeks later, a miracle happened: my file was found at the premises of my stake president’s company. The security guard had been keeping the file all this while since he did not know the owner.
This experience strengthened my faith in Christ, that He is mighty to save.
After receiving the file, we gave it to my stake president to fill it out and submit online. However, the file was not submitted online for nearly two months, and it was at this point that I felt like giving up. When I told my girlfriend that I wanted to give up, she replied with a statement that I had made at the beginning of our relationship, that nothing and no one could stop me from serving a full-time mission. I regained hope, called my stake president, and followed up with strict monitoring. When the application was submitted, I quit my job to better prepare for my mission. At one point, I ran out of food and was supported by my girlfriend.
Finally, my call came. I was called to serve in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission with President and Sister Lewis. I was so happy I had attained my goal. I had to go to the training center in Ghana, but due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I had to undergo my training online. There again, I paid for an internet bundle out of pocket until I ran out of money. A few days later I informed my trainer that I would have to stop taking the course for lack of money. Surprised by what he had just learned, he sent a message to my stake president, and the problem was resolved. I then proceeded with my training as planned.
I experienced adversity from the beginning of my preparation till the end. I am grateful for having kept the faith and for the hand of God that supported me during those trying times.
After my mission, I married that young girl who stood by me through it all. We now have a child who makes us so happy. I testify that as much as we shall put our trust in God even so much we shall be delivered out of our trials, and our troubles, and our afflictions, and we shall be lifted up at the last day. (See Alma 38:5.)