Gospel Story Finder

I cannot reflect on the priceless value of this day’s opportunity without thinking about the Hoa family. The year 1975 was grim in Vietnam. The Republic of Vietnam had collapsed in the face of the relentless onslaught of the North Vietnamese. The army had surrendered. The government had capitulated. Those who had been strongly identified with the government of South Vietnam or with the Americans feared for their lives and well-being. Many fled the country. Those who could not force their way onto departing military aircraft took passage on overcrowded ships and boats of every description. Some of these rusting hulks sprang leaks and sank in the South China Sea, not far into the voyage. Others were accosted by pirates, who molested and murdered many of these pathetic refugees and stole what few possessions they had brought with them. Tran Do Hoa, his wife Nga, their two young daughters and Nga’s teenage brother were among those who survived these perils and eventually reached the United States under an amnesty program.

Our ward in Southern California had offered to sponsor one such family. We found and rented a small home and furnished it in “early Deseret Industries”decor. Finally, the day came that we were to meet “our” family. With my young son as company, I drove to Camp Pendleton, the sprawling U.S. Marine Corps base in northern San Diego County, to pick them up. Following directions, we turned off the main highway onto a narrow byway that soon became a dirt road. We drove down this road for a considerable distance until we came to a large encampment of tents in an isolated part of the base. This was where these refugees were housed. The sight was heartrending: hundreds of Vietnamese attired in worn and ill-fitting clothing, many malnourished and still showing the bone-deep exhaustion of their ordeal. Clouds of dust hung in the late-summer air from the foot and vehicular traffic in and about the camp.

It was then, after checking in at the administrative tent, that I got my first glimpse of Hoa. He was a distinguished looking man in his early forties, thin to the point of emaciation, with graying hair and a gentle, polite smile. Nga, his wife, was a tiny woman with the natural beauty and graciousness of the Vietnamese. Two little girls, Betty and Ti, each clutching a doll, shyly clung to their parents. Thuan, Nga’s teenage brother, stood awkwardly nearby. And what I remember the most: all of their belongings were in a small, travel-worn suitcase and a cheap, plastic shopping bag. In Vietnam, Hoa had been a government civil servant, Nga had worked as a secretary. They had enjoyed a modest, but comfortable, standard of living. Now they had nothing. In fleeing Vietnam, they had forsaken everything they owned and held dear. Grateful to have escaped with their lives, they were totally and completely destitute in a strange land far from home. Hoa spoke halting English, Nga and the children spoke almost no English. As we drove out of that dusty encampment and onto Interstate 5, the great coastal superhighway, I remember thinking how overwhelmed and alone they must feel.

Looking back now, however, with the perspective of the years, I realize that Hoa and Nga had something not immediately apparent to the eye. They had a profound sense of gratitude for the opportunity that this land afforded them. They had virtually nothing of this world’s goods when they arrived in this country. But they brought with them a fierce determination to seize the opportunity provided. Through some interviews we helped to arrange, Hoa found work in a small electronics company. Nga immediately began attending English classes and eventually found a clerical job. Betty and Thuan enrolled in school and devoted themselves to their studies with single-minded resolve. Little Ti, a pre-schooler when the family arrived, grew up as an American child but fueled with the same work ethic that animated the other members of her family.

In time, our family moved away. We lost contact with Hoa and Nga and their children for a period of years. And so it was, with considerable delight, that we discovered on a return visit to that community that Hoa and Nga had purchased a lovely home. Two late-model automobiles were parked in their garage. Hoa and Nga each held responsible, remunerative jobs. Thuan had completed college as an electrical engineer. Betty had a scholarship to attend UCLA. And Ti was a vivacious teenager. Not long afterward, Hoa passed away prematurely.

More years passed, some twenty years from our first meeting. I was serving in the Area Presidency of the North America West Area and was assigned to a stake conference near Riverside, California. As I walked into the chapel on Sunday morning, there on the first row was Thuan. Although not a Church member and living more than 50 miles from this stake center, he had heard of my coming to the conference quite by chance from a workmate who was a member of the stake. He had come to once again express his gratitude, and that of his family, for the blessing of an opportunity. He threw his arms around me. It was a wonderful and tearful reunion for me, one I shall always remember.

As I look at us, you and me, bathed as we are in relative affluence, and all too often nonchalant about the opportunity cascading about us, I see in my mind’s eye a dusty encampment shimmering in the summer heat and a little family far from home, strangers in a strange land, with a worn suitcase and a plastic shopping bag. The vision restores my perspective.

“Tom? You got a minute?” Five-year-old Kevin stood outside his brother’s door.
“Sure, Kevin. Come on in,” Tom answered, looking up from his studies.
Kevin hurried to where Tom sat. “Tom, do you have to go to school tomorrow?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because tomorrow is your birthday!” Kevin protested.
“That doesn’t matter. Besides, I have a test.”
“Oh.” Kevin hesitated. “Tom, do you know any secrets?”
“No, I can’t say that I do,” Tom answered, his eyes lit with amusement.
“I do,” said Kevin smugly, “but I can’t tell you, ‘cause it’s a surprise!”
“Yeah?” Tom asked, eyeing Kevin with affection.
“Yeah,” Kevin answered. His eyes searched Tom’s. “Tom, if somebody made you a picture with lots of horses on it, do you think you would like it?”
“I sure would!”
“Better than a silver belt buckle with your initial on it?” Kevin asked hopefully.
“Lots better,” Tom replied vigorously.
“Better than a pair of real cowboy boots?”
“Yep,” Tom answered. He pointed at the wall facing his bed. “If I had a picture like that, I’d hang it right there so I could see it first thing every morning.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, ruffling Kevin’s hair.
“What’s your favorite kind of cake, Tom?”
“I don’t know, Kevin. Got any suggestions?”
“Chocolate! With fudge icing!”
“Is that your favorite?” Tom asked, still smiling.
“Yeah!”
“Then it’s mine too.”
“Tom?” Kevin rubbed his eyes sleepily.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I’ll ever get as big as you?”
“Not if you don’t get to bed. It’s way past your bedtime.”
“Will you carry me piggyback, Tom?”
“Sure.”
After Kevin was tucked snugly into his bed, Tom turned to leave.
“Tom?” Kevin called.
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” Kevin said.
“I love you, too, Kev.”
“Night, Tom.”
“Good night, Kevin.”
Kevin was still sleeping when Tom left for school the next morning. When he returned home, Kevin was waiting for him on the front steps. He tugged at Tom’s hand. “Hurry, Tom!”
“What’s the rush?”
“Come and see!” Kevin skipped as he led Tom inside the house.
Fifteen candles burned brightly on a chocolate fudge cake resting in the center of the table. Tom and Kevin’s parents came from the kitchen singing “Happy Birthday.”
“Surprise! Surprise!” Kevin yelled, jumping up and down.
“Wow!” Tom said happily.
Kevin helped Tom blow out the candles on the cake; then Tom opened his packages. He was very happy to get cowboy boots and a silver belt buckle with his initial on it from his parents. He saved Kevin’s gift for last.
Inside the package was a large white poster board. Several pictures of horses, cut from magazines, were glued to it. “This is terrific, Kevin!” Tom said, smiling.
“I made it all by myself!”
“Will you help me hang it in my room?” Tom asked.
“Yeah! Are you going to hang it in front of your bed so that you can see it first thing every morning?” Kevin asked anxiously.
“You bet!”
“Surprises are a lot of fun, huh, Tom?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, picking Kevin up and swinging him through the air. “Surprises are great!”

A few weeks ago my husband and I attended a temple session. As we entered, we were greeted by a temple worker, a dear friend from our ward. That greeting began a remarkable experience for us. We were met and served, more than any time I remember, by many people we knew: friends from previous wards, friends from the community, men and women we had served with in various callings. The last person I encountered was a young woman I didn’t recognize. She was lovely, and when she began to speak, I immediately remembered: Robin, one of the young women in my Laurel class when I was first a Young Women president. As we visited and exchanged memories and life updates, she told me how much that time had meant to her. I felt the same way.
I left the temple feeling moved by so much kindness, aware how important friends have been to me throughout my life. The Lord has touched my spirit time and again, and more often than not, His touch has reached me through the hand of a friend.

I broke up with my first boyfriend on a clear summer night.
Earlier that day, Carter (name has been changed) and I had been fighting—which wasn’t abnormal in our three-year, on-and-off relationship. We fought about everything—from what to eat to future plans. In the beginning, I waved our differences aside with the adage that “opposites attract.” But our occasional playful banter eventually morphed into an exhausting chain of disagreements.
That summer night we had taken a telescope into the desert to look at the planets. But we found that the brightness of the moon against the dark sky obscured our view. Frustrated, we started arguing—again.
I ended up walking off to compose myself. “This isn’t me,” I thought. I was known as the peacemaker among my siblings, and I spoke gently and kindly to my other friends. So why was I yelling at the guy I claimed to love?
I looked up at the dark sky and prayed to know how I could improve my relationship with Carter. Suddenly, overwhelming peace replaced my anger, and I felt impressed that the best thing I could do for both of us was to end our relationship.
Healing took time. There were moments I was tempted to dismiss the prompting to break up with Carter because I missed the familiarity of our relationship. I sometimes felt frustrated at God, believing that He had slammed one door shut without opening another. Even so, I clung to the counsel of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “In moments of fear or doubt or troubling times … hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes” (“Lord I Believe,” Liahona, May 2013, 93–94).
I didn’t receive that “additional knowledge” for many months, and I began to wonder if I ever would. After one of my heartfelt prayers about the breakup, the Spirit pressed on my heart, telling me that Heavenly Father’s promptings are for the well-being of His children. The details of His reasoning aren’t as relevant as my faith in Him is.
Knowing that Heavenly Father had a plan for me gave me hope for my future and helped me to start dating again. One morning I read Doctrine and Covenants 88:40, where the Lord teaches that “light cleaveth unto light.” I suddenly realized that this principle can apply to dating. I knew I would be happier with someone who shared my values and light.
I eventually met Austin. We connected instantly, from our love of tacos to our respective stateside missions. His gentle spirit felt familiar and compatible with mine, and I eventually married him. What we have isn’t an explosive relationship like you might expect in a popular romance movie. It’s sweet and stable—something I believe can last forever.
Many of us yearn for an explanation when we receive difficult promptings. From my experience, I learned that faith in the Lord can help us remain obedient without knowing the why. As we trust in an all-knowing God, we can feel peace in our decisions to act on promptings until we do receive the “additional knowledge” He has promised the faithful.

I remember when I was a resident in a large hospital in Boston. I was off duty every other night and every other weekend. On nights off, I arrived home to my wife and our four children after the babies’ bedtime. I departed in the morning before they were all awake. In order for me to attend sacrament meeting, I had to trade hours of duty with some of my Jewish or Seventh-Day Adventist colleagues. They were willing to cover for me temporarily on my Sabbath as I covered for them on theirs. Incidentally, I enjoyed some of my very most successful home teaching experiences on those highly prized nights off.

My years of training were followed by a surgical career that was wonderful and filled with challenge and reward. But now it is behind me. Thankfully, my dear wife is still with me. Ten days ago we celebrated our fifty-fifth wedding anniversary. Our family is most precious to us. She has blessed us with ten children. The time that elapsed between my graduation from medical school and my entering private practice was about twelve years. Seven of those ten children arrived before we could really “afford” them. Now all ten have been married in the temple and have families of their own. They have brought us fifty-two grandchildren. We are so grateful for temple endowments and sealings that bind us together forever!

When we were the age of most of you, Sister Nelson and I were married. Through thick and thin, we have merged our identity and fixed our focus on our highest priority, our eternal marriage. Through the prolonged period of education and later medical practice, she could have complained about my schedule, but she never did. Our children did not feel they were deprived of their father’s time, simply because Sister Nelson never murmured. Their attitudes were shaped by her attitude. Every moment we were together she seized as an opportunity to provide a little bit of heaven on earth for me and our children.

Now our children are adults with little ones of their own. We enjoy extended family home evenings once a month with all available members of our family. At that time we also celebrate family birthdays. Many names are written on each birthday cake. After those gala gatherings are over—when peace and quiet have again been restored—Sister Nelson and I lovingly embrace each other, grateful that we never allowed anything to take higher priority than our love—husband for wife, and wife for husband.

I pay tribute to Sister Nelson, this magnificent wife and mother who has always been supportive. When people have asked her how she managed with ten children with so little time available from her husband, she has responded with a twinkle in her eye, saying, “When I married him, I didn’t expect much, so I was never disappointed.”

Through those years of internship, residency, and all that followed, she faithfully served in Primary, Young Women, and Relief Society. In addition, she sang with the Tabernacle Choir for twenty years.

In 2001, he wanted to run for Parliament in Zambia and went to the temple to ask the Lord. The answer was a clear “no”. But he stood for election anyway—and lost. Later he went to the Lord again and was told, “Not yet.” Then in 2011 he went to the temple in prayer about seeking government office. This time the Lord answered, “Go ahead.”
Following his election to Parliament in 2011, Dr. Patrick Chikusu served as Zambia’s deputy minister of health until his death in 2013. His ethics and high standards made an immediate impact in the government. For example, he returned any unused money after completing travel assignments. He requested women working in his office wear modest, professional office attire. He soon noticed women in the other offices in the ministry had adopted similar dress standards. Sister Chikusu said people appreciated her husband’s honesty and good example.

The Primary put together a daylong activity that followed the Churchwide gospel study curriculum, Come, Follow Me.
Mahealani Tetuanui, a leader in the children’s organisation, said, “After six months at home, we wanted to touch on everything that the children have learned about the Book of Mormon since the beginning of the year, whether in Primary or in their homes.”
The activity was called “Walk for Your Faith” and was a two-kilometer hike in Faanui. On their route, each group had to find messages, complete challenges, and answer 20 questions.
Cinthias Shan, Primary president said: “The children really enjoyed being together after such a long time without interaction. And regarding the Book of Mormon, they realized that it was important to have it along the way to solve their problems at every stage of the big race, but also in everyday life.”

I remember clearly my first experience with the sacrament. I had just been invited by the missionaries to attend church for the first time. Unfortunately I didn’t know anything about how the sacrament works or what it symbolizes, so the girls I was sitting with had to explain the whole process while it was happening.
Looking back on this experience has made me realize that it would have been helpful if I had tried to learn a little bit more about the sacrament beforehand on my own, but I was fortunate that the girls I sat with on that first day were more than willing to explain everything to me in the moment. Since then, a lot has changed in my life—including my knowledge of the gospel and the meaning of the sacrament.
There have also been many changes during the past general conferences. When President Russell M. Nelson closed the October 2019 general conference, he revealed some revisions to the questions asked in a temple recommend interview, and as he reiterated question 8, “Do you strive to keep the Sabbath day holy, both at home and at church; attend your meetings; prepare for and worthily partake of the sacrament; and live your life in harmony with the laws and commandments of the gospel?” (emphasis added).
I was struck by the word prepare.
I’ve realized that the sacrament isn’t something you prepare for just moments before the bread and water are passed. You can prepare for the sacrament throughout the week to help you feel the Spirit strongly and a sense of renewal every Sunday.
Since then, I’ve started preparing to take the sacrament throughout the week by:
Studying my scriptures through Come, Follow Me and thinking of ideas I can share with others and in the next Sunday School meeting.
Packing what I need for church on Saturday night for meetings in the morning (the joys of working the night shift!). I make sure I pack my scriptures and a notebook to take notes during sacrament meeting, and I pray to find answers during church about how I can improve myself throughout the next week.
Listening to spiritual music on Sunday morning before I attend sacrament meeting also helps me feel the Spirit and get in the right mindset.
Reading over the hymns we will sing in sacrament meeting and looking up the scriptures they refer to. This helps me fully realize the message and meaning behind the hymns and helps me ponder these things throughout the meeting.
Lastly, thinking about the reason for the sacrament before it’s passed. I remind myself that I need to always remember the “why” of the sacrament and its importance throughout the week—the Savior.
The purpose for the sacrament is to remember Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice for us (see Matthew 26:26–28). The sacrament also invites us to renew our baptismal covenant and to deepen our commitment to become more like Him, to remember Him, and to become better disciples. It also allows us to start the next week spiritually refreshed.
I’ve learned so much more about the sacrament since that first day at church. And I now feel so much joy every week as I walk into sacrament meeting, knowing that I am about to remember my Savior’s sacrifice for me and be more diligent in keeping my covenants. Preparing makes a positive difference in the Spirit you feel throughout the meeting. Before the sacrament was in my life, I often felt empty—like something was missing. I never knew that the missing piece of my life was an ordinance that is so simple, but so powerful at the same time. An ordinance that helps me deepen my love for the Savior and appreciate all He does for me.

Twenty-five years ago I found myself in my first nursing course at St. Benedict’s Hospital in Ogden, Utah. My clinical instructor, Dr. Helen Farr, lined me and other students up against the wall to inspect our clean, white, crisp nursing uniforms early that first morning. With stethoscopes around our necks and confidence abounding, we were assigned our first patients. We could hardly wait to care for our patients—to do those skills that we had practiced so long and so hard in the nursing lab. We were excited to take our first blood pressure, give our first medication, and start our first IV.
I remember my first patient, a man in his fifties who had been diagnosed with bladder cancer—a terminal disease. I completed the technical skills with precision and, after giving what I thought was good care, walked out into the hallway to be met by Dr. Farr. She asked how I was doing. I reported all the tasks I had completed, including giving her a report of the patient’s current blood pressure and pulse.
With a worried look she asked me if I had taken the time to talk to the patient and really listen to understand his concerns and worries about his health problems. She told me to go back into the room and not come out until I had talked and then listened intently to my patient.
With my tail between my legs, I turned around and headed back into his room. I felt uncomfortable as I entered. I cannot remember what was said to break the tension, but I soon found out this patient’s physician had told him of his terminal condition that morning. The man shared with me his concern and his fears about the terminal diagnosis. How was he going to be able to talk about this to his wife? He told me he was scared of being in pain. He shared his concerns about leaving his wife and told me how important she had been to him. Tears came to his eyes as he spoke about how much he wanted to be with his children and grandchildren, to go fishing and camping with them. We spoke for a long time that day. At times no words were spoken, but communication occurred soul to soul.
Even though I felt I had been scolded by Dr. Farr that morning, I was taught an important and valuable lesson that day: to be still and listen. That lesson has helped me more throughout my nursing career than anything else I have learned since.

When I was a young university student, one of my classmates urgently pleaded with a group of us—his Latter-day Saint friends—to donate blood for his mother, who was bleeding profusely. We went directly to the hospital to have our blood typed and tested. I’ll never forget our shock when told that one of the prospective donors was unfit because of a positive blood test for a venereal disease. That infected blood was my classmate’s own!
Fortunately, his mother survived, but I’ll never forget his lingering sorrow. He bore the burden of knowing that his personal immorality had disqualified him from giving needed aid to his mother, and he had added to her grief.
I learned a great lesson: if one dishonors the commandments of God, one dishonors mother, and if one dishonors mother, one dishonors the commandments of God.1

One day my older brother Wallace and I were on our way to school. It had been raining the previous day and the ground was very muddy, especially along the street on which the building known as Joseph’s brick store was. Wallace and I both got stuck fast in the mud and could not get out. And, childlike, we began to cry. Looking up, I beheld the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, coming to us. He soon had us on higher and drier ground. Then he stooped down and cleaned the mud from our little heavy-laden shoes, took his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped our tear-stained faces. He spoke kind and cheering words to us and sent us on our way to school rejoicing. You can see why Wallace and I loved him.

Brothers and Sisters, I testify that God loves you and knows you personally. Let me share an experience that helped me understand this truth. In the 1980s, my full-time starting salary was only $18,000 a year, so I was living from paycheck to paycheck with no savings in the bank. Does that sound familiar? When the appliances in the home started breaking down, first the refrigerator, then the stove, in order to provide food for my children, I had to use all the money I had to pay for new ones. A few weeks later, when tithing settlement time came around, I had to make an important decision.

Would I get caught up with the house payment, would I buy food and Christmas gifts, or would I use my paycheck to catch up on my tithing? Being a full tithe payer is important to me, not only to show obedience but, even more importantly, to show the love I have for our Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. With faith, I chose to use my whole paycheck to pay my tithing and trusted in the Lord that all would be well. I told no one of our trials, but somehow, we had enough food on our table, and when we went to Church the Sunday before Christmas, as we left the chapel, there was a bag of presents left on our car. As we arrived home, there were more gifts left on our porch. I was grateful for earthly angels who listened with their hearts to the promptings of the Spirit to bless our little family. It is one of the most memorable Christmases we ever had.

The story doesn?t end there. though. The day before Christmas, I got a call from my Aunt Peggy, who lived 5,000 miles away in Maryland. Yes, the same persistent loving aunty who was part of our conversion story. When I answered the phone on that December night, she asked me right away, “How are you doing?” Years had passed since I last saw and spoke with her. I was too embarrassed to share my financial struggles, so I mustered up all the courage I had and replied, “Oh, we?re fine.” Then she explained that she had a dream, and in her dream, I was crying. As soon as she said that, uncontrollable tears began to flow, and I started to explain our problems.

She compassionately responded that she would put a check in the mail the very next day for $1,000 to help. For me, that was an incredible amount of money. After thanking her profusely and hanging up the phone, I couldn?t sleep. The Spirit kept stirring in my heart as I contemplated the miracle that just happened. The Lord had answered my prayer through a loving, inspired aunty, definitely one of my earthly angels. I picked up the scriptures and felt prompted to read in Matthew. I started with chapter 1 and kept reading until I got to Matthew 6, the beautiful sermon on the mount. As I read, it was as though the Savior himself was speaking to me.

I learned once upon a time to fly airplanes. The instructor was flying straight and level. On the horizon was a range of mountains. Then he did something like this [demonstration of snap roll and spin] and I saw the mountain rise up and stand on end. It turned upside down and then continued to its normal position. He put the plane into a spin, and as we were falling and gyrating, I looked below and saw the whole earth turning as if it were a huge wheel. The vision was vivid. It looked so real. I have performed these maneuvers many times since: the snap roll and the spin. If I were to do them today, I could no longer make the mountain turn over or the earth gyrate. Why? Because experience has taught me reality, and now I cannot be deceived.

On Sunday I couldn’t wait until Primary to talk to Sister Brimley, so I met her at the chapel door. “Sister Brimley, you won’t believe this! I found six people to give of myself to this week.” I told her about each of them. “But I can’t think of anyone for today.”
Sister Brimley stooped and put her arm around me and spoke in a tiny, low voice. “You’ve already given of yourself, Sara—to me. You see, I was very, very discouraged. I felt as though I wasn’t doing a good job as a teacher. You showed me that I can make a difference. Sometimes we may need things, but often we just need people to just give of themselves, as Jesus did and as you have. I think that He must be very pleased with you.”
Both Sara and Sister Brimley felt good about themselves as they went into the chapel together.

The privilege and opportunity to magnify our callings may come in unexpected ways. When I was a deacon, I remember sitting on the front row of benches in the chapel, along with the other deacons, as the priests prepared to bless the sacrament. One of the priests, whose name was Leland, had a “golden” voice. When he offered the prayer at the sacrament table, the words were clearly pronounced and beautifully spoken. Many would compliment him as the meeting concluded. I think he became a bit proud.
Another priest, named John, sat with Leland one day. John had a hearing impairment and an accompanying speech problem. His words were somewhat difficult to understand. Often we deacons would quietly laugh among ourselves when John prayed.
The bread was broken, the hymn was sung. All bowed their heads as Leland prepared to pray. We heard no words spoken. The silence seemed eternal. I opened my eyes and saw Leland looking frantically for the small card on which the words of the prayer were printed. It was nowhere to be found. Others began to open their eyes and raise their heads questioningly.
Just then, John, who had the hearing and speaking problems, reached forth, gently guided Leland to one side, knelt down and, from memory, spoke the words of that familiar prayer: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it …” (Moro. 4:3). He never missed a word.
As we left the chapel that day, Leland said to John, “I thank you very sincerely for helping me today.”
John responded, “We are both priests in the same quorum doing our duty.”

While my husband and I were serving in the Asia Area, we would often walk up Wan Chai Gap, a trail near our home in Hong Kong. The ascent is steep and difficult to climb, particularly on hot, humid summer days.
One Saturday I noticed that I wasn’t enjoying our walk, which seemed more like punishment than exercise. Looking down at the pavement for nearly the entire walk, I felt as though we were never going to reach the top.
I made an interesting discovery that day. When I looked down, my vision was limited to a narrow stretch of pavement. Trudging along, I saw the same narrow view of pavement, pavement, pavement. But when I looked up, I had a gorgeous view ahead of me. I saw trees with bright yellow flowers. I saw birds flying and singing melodious songs. I saw Tai Chi students rhythmically opening colorful fans as part of their exercise routine. Soon we reached our goal, Stubbs Road, and beyond that I saw bright blue skies and fluffy white clouds.

From the moment the inspiration to serve a full-time mission ignited within me, I felt a deep sense of urgency to begin preparing. I trusted that God had a precise and purposeful plan for me. I started my mission papers and completed all the necessary paperwork within just one month.
As I waited to complete the final preparations, I faced challenges that tested my faith. But those challenges were nothing compared to what I was about to face.
During this time, I experienced sexual assault. In the wake of the assault, I struggled to determine what my future would look like.
I had a new question: Why did I have to endure such a traumatic event, especially while I was trying to do the Lord’s work?
My life was engulfed in uncertainty, fear, and doubt. I believed that I was beyond repair. I couldn’t see how I would ever recover from such a devastating experience. I felt deeply isolated and filled with despair.
I worried that the experience had made me unworthy, so I reached out to my stake president for guidance. He suggested that I seek solace in Jesus Christ’s healing Atonement. He emphasized that Christ was the ultimate source of healing and peace and encouraged me to read the Book of Mormon.
I continued to grapple with confusion and doubt. My mind was clouded, and I didn’t know what to do. My stake president counseled me to put my mission papers on hold while I sought professional help from a psychologist. The coping mechanisms they taught me, along with support from friends, helped me in my healing process. But I especially found solace in the temple.
You Are Not Less Worthy
“The abuse was not, is not, and never will be your fault, no matter what the abuser or anyone else may have said to the contrary. When you have been a victim of cruelty, incest, or any other perversion, you are not the one who needs to repent; you are not responsible.
“You are not less worthy or less valuable or less loved as a human being, or as a daughter or son of God, because of what someone else has done to you.”
Elder Patrick Kearon, Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “He is Risen with Healing in His Wings: We Can Be More Than Conquerors,” Liahona, May 2022, 38.
During this period of intense pain, I also turned to God in prayer for healing, strength, and peace. As I immersed myself in the Book of Mormon, I started to experience a profound sense of calm. The healing power of Jesus Christ became especially meaningful to me. I came to the realization that what I had gone through was not my fault, and I felt comforted knowing that God was aware of my struggles and “will fight [my] battles” (Doctrine and Covenants 105:14). This understanding brought me the reassurance and clarity I sought.
Jesus Christ took upon Himself “the pains and the sicknesses of his people … that his bowels may be filled with mercy” (Alma 7:11–12). Christ possesses an intimate understanding of the past traumas we have endured and offers us solace and tranquility. He also enables us to forgive, even if it takes a very long time to do so.
As I’ve worked through my pain with both professional and spiritual help, I’ve gained peace. I recently received my temple endowment and my mission call, all thanks to the power of Jesus Christ.
Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Jesus specializes in the seemingly impossible. He came here to make the impossible possible, the irredeemable redeemable, to heal the unhealable, to right the unrightable, to promise the unpromisable. And He’s really good at it. In fact, He’s perfect at it.”
The truths of the Atonement of Jesus Christ became a reality to me as He made what I thought was impossible in my life possible. He healed my fears, doubts, and confusion, and miraculously, He healed me.

During this time we had one more strong desire. I love country music and had adopted as my theme song, “Give Me One More Shot.” We wanted to go on a mission while we were young enough to enjoy the work and had enough energy to be productive. We had been with the new plant for three years and the launch was going well when our bishop called and asked to see us. He was a little apologetic. He had been prompted during April conference to ask us to go on a mission. He knew we were not retired and thought, “Why should they go on a mission now?” He had delayed asking us for about a month. He said he didn’t know when we should go but offered to join us in prayer and get the answer.

Two weeks later, late one evening, he called and asked if he could stop by. He had received an answer to our prayer – he knew that we should go now. We got an application and started the process. During our physicals I found out I had cancer. The reason for the call now was abundantly clear. I spent the next year going through a successful surgery and recovery because of the early detection. What an incredible blessing as a result of our desire to go on a mission.

We filled out our mission application and received a call to the Republic of Georgia as the country director for humanitarian work. What a shock! I had spent 24 years in the military and now we were being sent to serve with our foes of the cold war. We wondered how we would be received and even had thoughts concerning our safety. We had no young missionaries in Georgia and shortly after we arrived the couple that had been teaching English returned home. We were alone in the country with a small branch of the church, a 400-student English school to keep going and humanitarian projects to finish and start. We kept the English school going until the new couple arrived and continued the humanitarian service.

Our humanitarian work grew nicely and tugged at our heart. We worked with orphanages, schools, hospitals and city governments. Our projects fed and clothed the young, provided wheelchairs to the lame, brought a doctor to the country to remove cataracts so the blind could see, and provided water to thousands of people. The humanitarian efforts of the church are quietly performed and very much appreciated. At one time the director of a blind school told us with tears in her eyes, “Many come to see our problems but you came back and did something about them.” Our hearts were full of gratitude for the opportunity to serve in this great effort. We were also able to hold missionary discussions, grow our small branch and prepare for the registration of the church in Georgia. Our earlier fears proved groundless. We developed wonderful relationships with local members and non-members. One of our best friends had been a member of the KGB; another was a regional governor in the communist party. There are really good people working under all kinds of government in all parts of the world. Our desires for a productive mission were again something better than we expected.

Pierre’s idea for a choir of homeless men never got off the ground in Paris because he didn’t stay in Paris. His older brother and sister had moved to Montréal, and he visited them frequently. In April 1995 he moved to Québec to get married. His engagement didn’t work out, but Pierre fell in love with Canada and decided to stay. He set up a successful dental lab and, of course, began volunteering.
“On my second day here,” he says, “I inquired at the tourist office where I could volunteer.” By coincidence, the tourism officer was a volunteer at l’Accueil Bonneau, a homeless shelter, and told him how to find it. “I arrived in time for lunch, and they gave me an apron,” he recalls. “I started to serve lunch to the homeless. For more than a year I did this.”
But the same frustrations he had felt in Paris resurfaced, and so did his idea. He typed a flyer and handed out 600 copies to the men in the food line. It offered employment to “singers, even beginners, for part-time work. Men only. Any age. Any nationality. Must love to sing. Musical knowledge not necessary.” Thirty men expressed interest, but at the first rehearsal only 3 showed up. However, 7 came the next day. The day after, 12 showed up. Pierre taught them four Christmas carols from the LDS hymnbook.
The metro was an inspired and logical location for their performances. “If the mountain won’t come to you, you must go to the mountain,” says Pierre. “Thousands and thousands of people come to the metro.”
Residents of Montréal are accustomed to seeing homeless people on the street, but they were not prepared for what they encountered in the metro station at 7:30 A.M. on 17 December 1996. It was an unforgettable experience for the performers and the commuters. “I couldn’t see the faces of the spectators,” Pierre explains, “because I was conducting, but I could see the faces of my friends in the choir. Their faces changed. People crowded around us. Several missed their trains to listen longer. One woman began to cry, and her sobs filled that improbable event with incredible emotion. It was like a tide coming in. People were crying, singing with us, putting money in the hat to the cadence of the melody, clink, clink. They started to make a line to put money in the hat. It was a wonderful experience.”
That first concert brought in more money than they had expected. The next morning the choir earned even more. “But the greatest pay the men received,” says Pierre, “was when people came directly up to them, spoke to them, and shook their hands. This meant much to men who had spent their lives digging in garbage cans, begging, or even stealing simply to survive.”
The choir sang every day that Christmas season except Sundays. The money they earned allowed all of them to spend the holiday in more comfortable circumstances. A few were able to visit relatives. Some hadn’t seen their families in years.
“After the last performance,” Pierre recalls, “I asked my friends, ‘Do you want to keep going with this choir, or do you want to stop now and start it up again next Christmas?’ ‘Keep going,’ they insisted.”
After the choir’s first subway concert, the media quickly learned about them. Two days later they were invited to introduce the weather forecast for a large television station, and the next morning articles appeared in most of the Québec newspapers. This unexpected free publicity allowed the choir to sign contracts for concerts at festivals, schools, churches, banks, and other television stations.
“The media,” says Pierre, “has helped give us a voice for our message that life is beautiful, that it is really worth living, and that we should never give up. Everyone deserves a second chance, and no one should be excluded, even if he or she is different.”

When seminary started my freshman year, I was pumped and ready for it—but that excitement lasted probably about a week and a half. By then I was just tired, and I was going to bed late and waking up so early. Every morning, I just thought, “This is such a bummer.” And even though seminary was held at my kitchen table in my own home, I didn’t want to go. It was becoming such a burden for me.

Eventually I said to myself, “Why am I even going? I don’t need to go!” But then I decided to change my attitude. I started writing down something I’d learned every morning, and I did that for the rest of the year. At the end of the year, I read the things I’d written. Going to seminary and writing down insights every day helped me appreciate seminary and have a stronger testimony of the gospel—especially when I read through all of it and realized how much I’d grown.
Annie P., Texas, USA