Gospel Story Finder

In this process of my preparation, I faced so many challenges—difficulties on documentation, in setting a date to go, and so on. During this time, the scriptures were a great source of comfort and assurance to me. Ether 12:6 says, “And now, I, Moroni, would speak somewhat concerning these things; I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.”
This verse gave me the courage and confidence needed for my family to look forward to being sealed together in the Lord’s house. Adding on to our courage, prayer with fasting gave us even more strength to calm all our storms and turbulences. Finally, we made it to the Taiwan Taipei Temple on the 5th of December 2017. That day was a day of joy and happiness to me, to witness our sealing as a family for time and all eternity.

At the age of 14, John entered the world of work to receive formal training for a vocation. The apprenticeship system in England then required young men to work for several years with a master of a particular craft or trade before they could themselves be certified as capable of practicing the trade on their own. John followed naturally in his father’s footsteps and was apprenticed to a cooper, or barrel-maker, in Liverpool. Unfortunately, John’s master apparently failed in business less than a year after the new apprentice arrived in the city, and John returned home to the family farm at Hale. He next turned his attention northward and apprenticed himself to the carpenter in Penrith where he worked for the next five years, completing his apprenticeship to become a fully-qualified carpenter himself in 1828.

I remember walking home from church alone the day I became a deacon. I didn’t know much about the Holy Ghost then, but He bore witness to me as I walked home that I held the holy priesthood and that it was very important. I’ve never forgotten that.
Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ love you very much. Children are pure and close to Heavenly Father, and you can have incredibly powerful spiritual experiences, just like my experience as a deacon walking down the street. If you will remember these spiritual experiences throughout your lives, they will serve as a very strong foundation for future spiritual growth.

The sophomore math whiz sat in the classroom after school waiting for the football star to come in for his weekly tutoring session. The guy who enjoys algebra, calculus, and trigonometry spent an extra hour or so each week teaching polynomial expressions and practicing exponential equations with the football hero, someone many called the best high school running back in the United States. Winning a football game he could do. But algebra? It was something of a challenge. That’s when the tutor came to the rescue.
When the school year ended, so did the tutoring sessions. The tutor had his junior year to look forward to while the tutor’s student graduated and accepted an athletic scholarship to the University of Miami.
That’s why the math whiz says, “Someday when he’s a famous football player, I can tell my kids I taught him math.”
Now two years later, Maurice Navarro is once again sitting in a classroom at Coral Gables Senior High near Miami, Florida. School ended 30 minutes ago, but just like in years before, several students have gathered around Maurice as he teaches a math concept his fellow students aren’t quite understanding.
That’s Maurice Navarro. Still the math tutor. Still helping others.
“That comes from my mother,” Maurice says of his service. “She taught me that if I’m able to help others, it’s very important that I do. It’s difficult for some of the kids to grasp math, so that’s why I tutor. Since math does come pretty easily to me, I’m glad to help.”
Maybe it won’t be exactly how Maurice envisioned it after all. One day in the future, the football star just might turn to his children and talk about a guy he knew in high school. “Kids,” he will say, “Maurice is the guy who taught me math.”

Sister Melbourne was mean and grouchy. There was no other way to describe her. Just the other day I heard her telling the bishop that children took too much time in testimony meeting. She even said that most of us didn’t understand what we were saying; we just wanted attention. I walked out of the chapel feeling very angry.
My anger didn’t last, however. It was December, and Christmas was in the air. Excitement filled me right up to the top of my head. I had to smile and laugh, or I think I would have burst. We began singing “Jingle Bells” as we rode home from church, just to let some of the excitement out.
After dinner, Mom and Dad called us into the family room. We all knew what we were going to discuss. Every year for as long as I could remember, we had chosen a family in our ward who needed some extra help at Christmastime, and we had secretly taken gifts and food to their house. It was one of our family’s favorite traditions.
When we were all together, Dad said, “It’s time we decide which family to help this year. Do any of you children have a suggestion?”
Some years it had been really easy to decide because of a particular family’s needs, but this year we couldn’t think of anyone. When none of us said anything, Dad looked at Mom. “Maybe Mom has a suggestion. Sometimes she notices things the rest of us miss.”
Mom smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do know of someone who needs our help. Before, we have always chosen a family with children, but this year I think we should help Sister Melbourne.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! “But, Mom,” I protested, “she’s not poor or sick, and she’s really grouchy. She doesn’t even like kids. I think we should choose someone else.”
“I agree with April,” said my older sister, Beth. “She really is grouchy. It wouldn’t be any fun doing something for her. She might even kick our gifts off her porch. Besides, she seems to have plenty of money. She dresses in nice clothes.”
I looked at Beth gratefully. It was comforting to have someone older agree with me. Peter spoke up. “She’s always telling me to shush, even when I’m quiet.”
Lynn and Josh didn’t say anything. They were too small to know who Sister Melbourne was.
“I know that Sister Melbourne has enough money to take care of herself,” Mom said. “And I know that she isn’t very pleasant to be around. But that’s exactly why I think she needs our help.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I listened as Mom continued: “Sister Melbourne has had an unhappy life. She was divorced before she moved here. She has three children who are married. They have children of their own but never come to see her or let her get to know her grandchildren. Perhaps she has done something to make them want to stay away. I don’t know about that, but I do know that she is very lonely and unhappy. I think she needs someone to let her know that she is loved. You see, April, you weren’t quite right when you said that she wasn’t poor.”
“You mean she’s poor in love?” I asked.
“Yes, and sometimes it’s much more painful to be poor in love than it is to be poor in money.”
We were all quiet for a few minutes. Then Dad said, “Let’s take a vote. How many of you would like Sister Melbourne to be our special family this year?”
Slowly Beth’s hand went up. Lynn and Josh raised theirs. Then Peter raised his. Looking around at everyone, I reluctantly raised mine.
Mom said that instead of buying all our gifts for Sister Melbourne from the store, we should make most of them. All the next week we cut out snowflakes, strung popcorn and cranberries, pasted together red and green chains from paper strips, and made cookies and candy. We bought apples and oranges to go with all the things we had made.
It was Dad’s job to get a box just the right size for our gifts and to decorate it. We carefully arranged everything inside the box and put on the lid. Dad added a huge red and green plaid bow on the top.
We gathered around the dining room table to have a prayer and make our final plans before we delivered the box. In the prayer, Dad asked Heavenly Father to please soften Sister Melbourne’s heart and help her to receive our gift in the spirit of love with which we were giving it. I was comforted by those words, because I remembered what Beth had said about Sister Melbourne kicking our gift off the porch, and I had visions of cookies, candy, paper snowflakes, apples, oranges, strings of popcorn and cranberries, and red and green chains strewn all over the ground.
We all put on our coats and piled into the car. Since the box was pretty big, we decided Dad would carry it to the porch. After he returned to the car, it would be my job to ring the doorbell and run back to them before Sister Melbourne opened her door.
I could feel my heart pounding with excitement as Dad parked far down the street from her house. “April and I will walk to Sister Melbourne’s house,” he said. “The rest of you must be very quiet so that you don’t attract attention.” He lifted the box out of the car and motioned for me to follow him.
“Dad,” I said, “I’m afraid Sister Melbourne will catch me and get mad.”
“She’ll never catch you!” He grinned at me. “You’re the fastest runner in our family. But if you’re really worried, I’ll wait for you behind those bushes over there on the far side of her yard. When she’s inside again, we’ll go back to the car together.”
“I’d like that,” I said, smiling gratefully up at him.
Dad carefully set the box on the porch. I waited until he was hidden behind the bushes, and then I ran up the steps, rang the doorbell, and flew down the steps and across the yard to the bushes, where I crouched down next to Dad. “Good work,” Dad whispered, putting his arm around me.
The door opened, sending a ray of light out across the snow. Sister Melbourne didn’t see the box at first, but as she was about to close the door, she saw it and stopped. She just stood there for a second. Then she bent down and read her name on the top. She lifted the lid, and once again she was very still. Finally she picked the box up and looked around the yard. She was smiling, but there were tears running down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she called out. “Thank you, whoever you are.”
Dad and I were both quiet for a few moments after she went inside and closed the door. I whispered, “I think she really liked our presents, don’t you?”
“Yes, I think she really did.”
The next Sunday as we were driving home from Church, we looked at everyone’s Christmas decorations and we began singing “Jingle Bells” again. When we passed Sister Melbourne’s house, I saw our snowflakes in her big front window, and the popcorn and cranberry strings and red and green chains on a Christmas tree that hadn’t been there the week before. “I think Sister Melbourne’s getting richer,” I said.
Mom stopped singing long enough to give me a hug. “So are we.”

“President Herman A. Volz, this is your life!” That’s how the Young Women of the Sheboygan Branch, Midland Michigan Stake, surprised their branch president one evening at an activity honoring his service to the branch. The program included reading President Volz’s life history (written and read by his wife Gloria), a tribute by his son Richard, and a recitation of his favorite scripture (Mosiah 2:17) by his daughter Sara. Since it was the Sheboygan Branch’s sixth anniversary, the branch history was also read. Church members as well as nonmembers who are friends of President Volz were invited, and a member of the stake presidency and his wife also attended.

I grew up in what some of you might call a boring farming community: Virden, New Mexico, population 135. One summer night when I was a boy, my cousins, some friends, and I were looking for ways to create some excitement. Someone suggested we play a harmless prank on a neighbor. My conscience whispered it was wrong, but I didn’t have the courage to resist the enthusiastic response of the group.
After performing our mischievous act, we sprinted down the dark country road to make our escape, laughing and congratulating ourselves as we ran. Suddenly, one of the group stumbled, crying out, “Oh no, I kicked a cat!” Almost instantly we felt a very fine mist settle over us. It carried a horrible odor. What my friend thought was a cat was actually a skunk. It had sprayed us in self-defense. Very few odors are as nauseating as skunk spray, and we smelled terrible.
Dejectedly, we went home in search of a little parental comfort for our pitiful plight. As we stepped inside the kitchen door, Mom took one sniff and shooed us out into the yard. We were cast out of our home. Then she launched the cleansing process. She burned our clothes. Then, it seemed that every home remedy or concoction in the community was volunteered in our behalf. Among them, we endured a variety of baths: first tomato juice, then cow’s milk, and even harsh homemade lye soap. But the stench remained. Even my dad’s powerful aftershave lotion could not overpower the stench. For days we were condemned to eat outside under a tree, sleep outdoors in a tent, and ride in the back of the pickup truck.
After a while, naively thinking the smell was gone, we tried to approach some normal-smelling girls. They would not allow us within yards, shattering our fragile teenage egos!

Mason and Dad are walking in the forest. Mason brought paper and crayons to draw what he sees. Mason draws a squirrel with a fuzzy tail climbing up a tree. Mason draws shiny fish swimming in the river. Mason draws round, red berries that remind him of bouncy balls. Mason and Dad get to the end of the trail. Mason draws a beautiful waterfall! Mason is glad Jesus made such a beautiful world for him.
Mason drew pictures of things he saw on his nature walk. Can you find them in the picture below? What else do you see?

It was a noisy evening in my dormitory at the University of Ibadan in Nigeria. There was a downpour outside, and a cool breeze blew through the window. Music of different sorts came from many rooms on my floor, and girls were singing and calling to one another.
My older sister had gone to visit friends, but I chose to stay and prepare supper for myself and my roommates. I couldn’t explain why, but I had a strong feeling that I should stay behind.
As I began making soup, Ifeoma came in. She was a missionary for a church that met on campus. A discussion ensued between Ifeoma and my roommates. She preached to them for some time and invited them to attend her church. My roommates willingly accepted her invitation.
I was disappointed because my invitations for my roommates to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had been unsuccessful. The first time I invited them, they ridiculed me and the Church. Subsequent attempts during the following three years were also failures. I felt like a poor member missionary. But a voice within me insisted, “Don’t give up.” So I often fasted and prayed to meet someone in school who would listen to the gospel.
“Hello!” Ifeoma said, turning her attention to me. “Would you mind listening to me while you cook?”
“Not at all,” I answered.
“Are you born again?” she asked.
“Yes, if you mean by ‘born again’ what Jesus taught Nicodemus,” I said (see John 3:1–21).
“That’s interesting,” she said. “May I know which church you attend?”
“I attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I answered.
“The Mormons?” she asked in amazement. “I understand they use a different Bible.”
“It is not a Bible but the Book of Mormon,” I explained. “It is another testament of Jesus Christ.”
“Would you tell me what your beliefs are?” she asked.
“Certainly,” I answered with confidence. I told her about the Articles of Faith and the Book of Mormon. I told her about faith in Jesus Christ, repentance, and baptism. She listened quietly. Then I bore my testimony and gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon I had intended to give to someone else.
“You mean I can keep this?” she asked.
“Yes. It is a gift from me to you,” I said. Then I asked her to open the book and read 2 Nephi 25:26. She did so gladly: “We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”
When Ifeoma finished reading, her countenance had become sober. I sensed she was convinced that what I had said was true.
“And I thought members of your church didn’t believe in Christ,” she said softly.
I invited her to attend church with me the next Sunday, and she agreed. “Thanks, Ngozi,” she said. “I have never felt such a warm feeling as I did today while talking with you.”
She left, and I understood why I had had the strong impression to stay rather than go with my sister. I had been led by the Spirit and had at last succeeded in sharing the gospel with someone who was willing to listen.

Long years ago a severe drought struck the Salt Lake Valley. The commodities at the storehouse on Welfare Square had not been of their usual quality, nor were they found in abundance. Many products were missing, especially fresh fruit. As I was a young bishop, worrying about the needs of the many widows in my ward, my prayer one evening is especially sacred to me. I pleaded for these widows, who were among the finest women I knew in mortality and whose needs were simple and conservative, because they had no resources on which they might rely.
The next morning I received a call from a ward member, a proprietor of a produce business situated in our ward. “Bishop,” he said, “I would like to send a semitrailer filled with oranges, grapefruit, and bananas to the bishops’ storehouse to be given to those in need. Could you make arrangements?” Could I make arrangements! The storehouse was alerted, and then each bishop was telephoned and the entire shipment distributed. Bishop Jesse M. Drury, that beloved welfare pioneer and storekeeper, said he had never witnessed a day like it before. He described the occasion with one word: “Wonderful!”
The wife of that generous businessman is today a widow. I know the decision her husband and she made has brought her sweet memories and comforting peace to her soul.

When I think of what respect for others looks and feels like, I think of an experience from the life of President James E. Faust. On one occasion after he had been called as a General Authority, then Elder Faust, his wife, and two family members decided to attend a session at the Washington DC Temple. His son recalled that after they had arrived and entered the temple, his father
presented his recommend, which [was] a special one issued to the General Authorities and look[ed] somewhat different. The gentleman who was checking recommends did not know what it was and told my father he wouldn’t be able to enter the temple. Rather than embarrassing the man by telling him who he was, Dad politely excused himself and we all left. [Marcus G. Faust, quoted in James P. Bell, In the Strength of the Lord: The Life and Teachings of James E. Faust (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1999), 188]
I am moved by the deep respect that President Faust showed to the man at the recommend desk. President Faust acknowledged and respected him, letting him do his duty as he had been instructed. Because of that respect, President Faust would rather not go in the temple than cause the man embarrassment in front of others. So, as a fellow disciple, President Faust did the respectful thing: he thanked the man and left.

“I remember that story of Nephi,” Brother Grossenheider said in his raspy old voice. “I was a deacon once, you know. But I was 16 or 17 years old. I didn’t know they sent young bucks like yourselves to do this kind of work.” He squinted at the sky. “I haven’t been to church in 60 years. But I remember doing fast offerings a few times when I was a deacon.”
He paused. “I’d forgotten all about that.” He turned the envelope over and over in his hands and examined it. “That used to be an important job, fast offerings. The bishop took us around in a wagon, and we loaded that wagon with eggs and tomatoes and carrots and meat, sometimes a chicken or two. And we drove right over to the people who needed it and gave it to them. They surely were glad to get it. Nineteen thirty-six, it was. Lots of people out of work. The Depression, you know.”
He looked keenly at us over his glasses. “No, I guess you don’t. But it was an important job back then. I suspect there’s still people in need, eh.” He looked at us sharply. “You boys look mighty young to be doing important business like this.”
We didn’t answer.
He shook the envelope at us again. “Can’t fit a chicken in here. How does this work?”
Reggie and I exchanged glances. “You just put some money in it,” I said and shrugged again. “Whatever you can afford.”
“Yep,” Reggie said and put his hands in his pockets. “And then the bishop takes care of it from there.”
The old man nodded and thought for a moment. “So I’m Laban, eh?” he said and squinted his eyes at us.
We looked at the ground, embarrassed, and adjusted our feet.
He took a dollar bill from his pocket. “I don’t have much,” he said and slid the dollar into the envelope. Then he stood and slowly walked to us with the envelope, his cane supporting his left side.
“You’ll be back next month?” Brother Grossenheider asked, handing me the envelope.
“Yes, sir, we will,” I said.
He worked his way up the porch steps with his cane, groaning as his legs lifted his body to each level. At the top he turned around and paused as his hard breathing settled to a quieter mode. “You boys close that gate when you leave, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and we did.
When we got to the street, Reggie said, “You know, I was thinking how the quorum needs a service project. Maybe next month we could ask Brother Grossenheider about helping with his yard. What do you think?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go tell Brother Baron.” I turned and ran. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

We better get back to class.
Hang on. I think I found something.
Whoa! Josh, come here! Mike found 10 pounds!
A “pound” is what money in England is called.
Brilliant!
So what are we gonna do with it?
Maybe we could buy some sweets.
What are you talking about? It’s not ours.
Of course it is! Finders keepers.
No way. I’m gonna turn it in to the office.
Josh and Anthony: What?!
At least split it with me and Anthony. You can turn in the rest.
It’s not right to keep it. You can’t change my mind.
I found this in the courtyard. I thought someone might come looking for it.
Oh, thank you!
You’re such a goody-goody.
I can’t believe you wouldn’t share.
I know I did the right thing.
Label: A few weeks later
The headmistress wants to see you in her office.
Am I in trouble?
Come in, Mike! I just wanted to thank you for turning this in. Not many people would have. You’re a good example.
Oh! Thank you.
We held it in case someone came looking for it. But no one did. I thought you should keep it.
Wow, thank you!
Even if I hadn’t gotten the money back, I’m glad I was honest.

Helen gazed through the window as the snow swirled outside, and shivered. “Brrr, Mama, it’s cold!” she said. She thought about Daddy, who was out working at whatever job he could find on this cold, windy day. “I hope Daddy is all right.”
“I’m sure he will be fine,” Mama said. “Come help me finish kneading this bread before your sister wakes from her nap.”
Helen climbed on a chair and watched Mama push, pound, and roll the ball of dough. She looked over at the beans that had been boiling on the stove all morning, and frowned.
Mama saw her frown and said, “Helen, we are lucky Daddy has work so we have food. And I have a secret,” she whispered. Helen moved closer.
“I have raisins, walnuts, and a little honey for our leftover dough. Let’s make cinnamon rolls!”
“A Christmas gift for Daddy!” Helen said, clapping her hands. Together they rolled the dough and spread the honey. Helen carefully placed each raisin and walnut as Mama sprinkled cinnamon.
Then Mama said, “Let’s go to the barn while we’re waiting for the rolls to rise and see if the chickens laid any eggs.”
The wind whistled around them as they ran to the barn. When Mama finished placing the last egg into a basket, Helen counted each one. “Nine eggs, Mama!”
When they got inside, Helen checked the cinnamon rolls. “Look! They’re perfect,” she said as Mama placed them in the oven.
Then they heard a knock at the door.
“Who could that be?” Mama asked.
Helen followed Mama and hid behind her skirt as Mama opened the door. Behind it stood a tired-looking woman holding a couple of red wooden chairs. Helen peeked out from behind Mama.
The woman stepped forward. “I’m selling these little red chairs for one dollar each,” she said.
Helen let go of Mama’s skirt and touched one of the chairs. She thought how she and her sister would love those chairs. Something behind the woman caught Helen’s eye. A daddy and little children were waiting in an old truck.
Mama wiped her hands on her apron and invited the woman inside. “With these hard times, I don’t have any money to give you,” Mama said. “But I will make you a Christmas trade.”
Mama picked up the basket of eggs and added potatoes to it. Then she took out a clean bucket and filled it with the cooked beans. Helen’s heart felt warm as Mama took out a hot loaf of bread and put it in the basket.
“Thank you,” the woman said softly.
Helen smiled at the woman. The woman put down the red chairs as Mama put a finger over her lips, “This is our Christmas secret, Helen.”
Tears rolled down the woman’s face as she walked with Mama to the door and they wished each other “Merry Christmas.”
On Christmas morning Helen and her sister each unwrapped a little red chair. One leg on Helen’s was a little shorter than the other three. “Look, my very own rocking chair!” This had been the very best Christmas.

I grew up in an environment where many men smoked, drank, and lived unchaste lives. I saw this kind of example in my own family and in most of the men in the vicinity, so I came to believe it was normal. At the early age of 20, I got married. Four years later, after we had three children, we divorced. But I later met a wonderful woman, who not only accepted me with three children but gave us five more. We have been married for more than 30 years.
One day about 22 years ago I began to fear greatly for the future of my eight children. I didn’t want them to go through the same dangerous situations I had, and I was afraid they would be lost in the wickedness of the world. I didn’t know what to do to help them, but I became very receptive to the things of God. Whenever someone knocked on the door with a religious message, I opened my door and my heart. I listened attentively, accepted their pamphlets, and went with them to their houses of worship. Still, I wasn’t at peace; I couldn’t find what I was looking for.
A few years passed, and a pair of young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our home. With my wife and our five children (the other three lived with their mother), I began to hear the discussions, attend church, and get acquainted with the members and their beliefs. After several months we made the wise decision to join the Church, and 17 years have now gone by.
I understood that I had to make changes in my life if I wanted to teach my children the right way. For example, I could not teach them to keep the Word of Wisdom and live a chaste life if I was not living these commandments. By striving to live the teachings of the gospel, I was able to change my life and teach my children. I was also able to baptize my three children from my first marriage and get them back from the world. All eight children belong to the Church now. Four have served missions. One was too old to go on a mission, but he served as a stake mission president. Six are married, all in the temple.
At the beginning of 1999, we had a regional conference in southern Florida. After fulfilling an assignment to deliver earphones for the conference translation, I went into a hall where thousands of Church members were seated. I remained standing at the back of the hall, and I was able to observe one of my sons with his baby. I looked in another direction and saw another son with his wife and children.
A wonderful feeling of joy came over me at that moment, and I could not keep tears from my eyes. I remembered those terrible days when I was so worried about my children’s future. Now I was weeping for joy because I no longer had those worries.
The gospel and true Church of Jesus Christ made it possible for us to find the right way to help our children and to have joy and happiness. Christ is the light guiding our lives. His teachings persuade us to do good.

My parents came to Laie in 1969 to access my mother’s academic scholarship out of Liahona High School, the Church-owned school in Tongatapu. They only had enough for their one-way fare to Hawaii, so we were left in the care of our grandparents. They naively assumed it would take only a few months to earn enough to send for all three of us. Little did they know the money they’d make dancing at the PCC was intended just to cover their most basic needs – food, electricity, and water. It took them an entire year to save for my one-way fare, so I came alone in 1970. My siblings didn’t come until 1972, so they hadn’t seen my parents for over three years.
Initially, we lived in a little home my parents rented in Hau’ula. One vivid memory I have of that house is that my mother had small, empty Gerber baby food jars all over the house filled with coins. They literally saved spare change to help in our immigration – but I suspect the reason my mother had those jars out so visibly throughout the house was to entice visitors to also share their change. My mother was incredibly smart.
But my dear mother, who passed away about seven years ago, would soon be faced with a dilemma that haunted her for the rest of her life: Choose between her children and her education.
My mother’s dream was to graduate with a teaching certificate, return to Tonga and teach at their alma mater, Liahona High School.
My father had other ideas. He wanted to stay in the States and pursue the American Dream. He prevailed on my mother to drop out of school, apply for resident alien cards, otherwise known as “Green Cards,” immigrate to the Mainland and work to bring my younger siblings from Tonga.
So here was my dear mother’s dilemma: Remain in school but not see her two younger children for another few years. Return to Tonga to be with her children, likely ending any hopes of ever graduating. Finally, Drop out of school apply for permanent visas, find jobs, and work to bring their children from Tonga.
With great trepidation, they chose the third option and with some reluctance, Mom dropped out, they sold what they could, packed up and moved out of TVA. We moved to Mesa, Arizona where my dad had a younger brother living in nearby Tempe. Without college degrees, my parents knew for the rest of their lives they’d be relegated to working menial jobs, often a couple of them, in order to make ends meet. They immediately applied for permanent US residency, which took a couple of years but it happened. Our green cards arrived at about the same time my siblings did, roughly three years. Our piecemeal immigration took 3.5 years for us to be reunited as a family. My parents were literally strangers to my siblings when they arrived from Tonga – so young they didn’t remember my parents at all, which was heartbreaking.
I hope none of you ever have to face the dilemma of choosing an education or your children. In retrospect, there were probably ways they could’ve made it happen but they just didn’t know how. Today, the Church provides BYU–Pathways, IWORK, the Perpetual Education Fund and a host of other programs for anyone to pursue an education.
Though she never regretted her decision, my angel mother was nevertheless haunted by the fact she was so close to a university degree, yet couldn’t quite reach it. So, since a college degree wasn’t in the cards, Mom would make it her life mission to provide her children with the tools to be educated, with very limited resources. She didn’t have any savings but she paid her tithing faithfully, went to the temple and pleaded with the Lord to help her find a way. The Lord blessed her and us in miraculous ways.

I recently read a story from the French and Indian War in 1756 of a woman (Mrs. Neff), in what would now be West Virginia, who was taken hostage by a party of Shawnee warriors. To humiliate and disorient her, they cut her petticoat up to her knee and made her wear moccasins. In that terrifying situation, Mrs. Neff withstood the mental abuse, kept her composure, and later when she saw that her guard had fallen asleep, Mrs. Neff escaped. Even though she heard gunshots behind her, she was able to run to the safety of a nearby fort. I think of her courage and resilience to overcome fear and uncertainty and run to safety when the opportunity presented itself.

During my years in law practice I became acquainted with a fine Jewish client. As a teenager he lived as a Hasidic Jew in German-occupied France during the Second World War. He was apprehended by the Gestapo. Tattooed numbers were placed on his arm labeling him as undesirable and he was sent to a German concentration camp. He lived only because he was young and strong, able to help with the required daily chores. As a result of his suffering he said in his heart “there is no god.”

One day I asked him, for conversation sake, to imagine there is a god. “Would you have had this god intervene and prevent the death of six million Jews during the Second World War?” I inquired. He answered, “Most certainly.”

I then referred to others over the centuries, not necessarily of Jewish ancestry, who had also lost their lives through barbarous acts. “Should God have intervened and stopped this?” “Yes,” he affirmed.

I then spoke of yet others of ages past and present who died through cruel diseases, not the inhumanity of man. “Should God have precluded this, also?” His avowal was consistent.

Then I spoke of yet others who, short of death, had suffered much from physical – or emotional – or familial – or financial woes. My friend could not turn from his chosen course. He would have God intervene and eliminate every burden of man. He was uncomfortable in his answer but did not know where to draw the line once his imaginary god hastened to remove the very challenges that are the purpose and necessity of our probationary estate. I told him I did not like his god, even if only imaginary, for he kept me from passing the tests of faith for which I was sent to this earth.

After months of planning, the young men of the Barnstaple Branch, Plymouth England Stake, left for their camp three days early. No, they didn’t read their calendars wrong. They decided that, instead of taking the usual car ride, they and their Young Men president would walk the 65 miles (105 km) to camp in stormy weather. The hike took the young men along roads, paths, and rugged Dartmoor countryside.
The trek was such a success that the stalwart hikers decided to do it again some months later. This time they walked the 130 miles (209 km) from Young Men’s camp in Redruth, arriving home in Bideford six days later. Needless to say, most of the young men have completed the Duty to God hiking requirements.

On the morning of September 12, 2005, Keone and Naomi Kamauoha welcomed a brand new baby girl appropriately named Faith into their family.
Naomi shared the following: “all the pain from the labor and delivery went away as she was handed to me to hold.” Yet within a few hours, their happiness would unexpectedly be interrupted when their new born baby was diagnosed with a serious condition called Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia. Her intestines and spleen had gone through a small hole in her diaphragm up into her chest cavity. When we finally got to see her our hearts broke.
Faith went through 3 surgeries within 16 days of her life. The family fasted and prayed daily for her. During this difficult time when they were unable to hold her, the parents took advantage of talking and singing primary songs to her everyday and telling her they loved her.
Faith was put on an ECMO machine which helps to oxygenate her blood as an artificial lung. A day after Faith was put on the machine; she had opened her eyes and began to move her hands and feet. “It was just like Christmas for us” shared her parents. “It was so awesome to see her beautiful light brown eyes. We comforted her when she was scared and just spent the day talking to her and singing her to sleep. After a couple of days, the doctors needed to sedate her again to allow her lungs to rest before trying to open them up again. It was a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs but we prayed everyday for her comfort that she may have the strength to overcome this.”
On the early morning of October 12, we received a phone call from her doctor that we needed to come in and be with our daughter. “She was bleeding in her lungs and it could not be stopped. When we arrived, she was put into a deep sleep. The nurses removed the many tubes and IV’s that were in her, gave her a bath, clothed and wrapped her in a blanket, and gave her to us.
“As we held her, we sang and talked to her and told her how much we loved her. Our Bishop came to be with us and we asked him many questions about our daughter and what was going to happen with her spirit. His knowledge of the Plan of Salvation helped give us comfort. Faith returned back to a loving Heavenly Father that day.”
What could have been as stumbling block for this young couple became a stepping stone for them. As the mother expressed: “Although I may not understand at times, I know that the Lord knows who I am and hears my prayers. This experience taught me to be even more grateful for the gospel in my life for it has brought me peace and comfort throughout this time” (Kamauoha, 2005).