Gospel Story Finder

Fourteen years have passed since the day Latter-day Saint branches in Viet Nam were disbanded and I began my long struggle to leave my beloved homeland.
I was born 27 December 1923 in Hue, the ancient capital and royal city of Viet Nam. My family lived in a large palace because I am descended from the royal Vietnamese family. My ancestors ruled Viet Nam for about 300 years.
My last name, Cong Ton Nu, is actually a title meaning countess. My first name, Tuong-Vy, means rose. My father, Huong-de, was prime minister to the last king, Bao Dai, who ruled until 1945. Huong-de is also a title. If you showed it or my name to a Vietnamese, he would know right away that we are descendants of the royal family.
When I was twenty years old, I graduated from Viet-anh Lyceum in Hue. A few months later, I married Le-Van Luong, one of my high school teachers. We had a very good life. The wars did not affect us much. I stayed home and took care of our four daughters and two sons while my husband taught school. We had plenty of money and employed servants to help us. We moved to Saigon in 1950.
Unfortunately, my husband and I divorced in 1965. After that, I had to work, so I became a high school teacher. I eventually started to manage and then own an information center and travel agency.
In 1967, Robert Lewis, a member of the Church, came to my office. He wanted a Church pamphlet, The Testimony of Joseph Smith, translated into Vietnamese, so I took it to a translator. When he finished, I gave the translation to Brother Lewis. He took it to church for the Vietnamese members to read. But they did not like it; it did not mean anything to them. Brother Lewis brought it back to me, and when the translator said he couldn’t do any better, I decided to try myself. I was not very good at speaking English and worried about how to translate it. I took the pamphlet home and stayed up all night reading it. As I read, something strange happened to me. It was as if someone unseen was helping me understand. The first translator translated word for word; but as I finally understood part of the testimony, I put it aside and wrote the translation in my own words. I translated according to the thoughts and feelings that were impressed upon me. I did not know it at the time, but I was translating by the Spirit.
I gave the translation to Brother Lewis and said that I would refund his money if he didn’t like it. But the members read it and said they understood what it meant. They said, “It communicates feelings—it affects us.”
Brother Lewis told me he would bring some more material to translate. So then I translated four or five pamphlets. They were all accepted.
As I worked on those pamphlets, I began to love the Church and the doctrines and teachings of the gospel. I asked Brother Lewis to send some missionaries to me. He sent two American servicemen. They taught me for three months, and I was baptized. My oldest son, Le Phuc-Hung, was also baptized a few months later.
In the early 1970s, I was extended a call to translate the Book of Mormon. I wondered how I would be able to do this because I was still manager of the travel agency, my office was noisy, it was on the busiest street in Saigon, and I had to supervise a large staff. I had a big house, but my six children and their families lived there. So I could neither translate at my office nor my home. I was also serving as Relief Society president in my branch. I needed a private place where I could think and study. I prayed to my Heavenly Father, “How can I find the time and the place to translate this book and still earn a living?”
Soon after, my son Le Viet Hung, who had just joined the military, came to me early one morning. To my great surprise, he gave me a gift of 400,000 piasters that the had just won in a government contest. When I got the money, I gathered my children and told them, “I will give you my home and all that I own. I will leave my job, take a portion of the contest money, and buy some land in a remote area.”
My children agreed—the property was worth about six million piasters—and I found a quiet place about one acre in size, fifteen kilometers from Saigon. There I built a cottage and planted a garden.
In my new home I prayed, “How can I translate; my English is not good enough?” I secluded myself and studied extensively. I read many books on the life of the Savior, and, because my French was better than my English, I studied a French Book of Mormon. I read the English Book of Mormon many times. When I came to sections that I found difficult to translate, I would often dream about them and see where I could find help in other books I owned. And as I translated, I pondered. I forgot myself. It was almost as if someone else was helping me write. I know that Heavenly Father blessed me that the translation might be a good one—many have studied it and said so. It took me two years to finish.
After the Book of Mormon, I translated the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price. Then, in 1975, I started on some more books but was not able to finish because North Viet Nam took over South Viet Nam.
A few weeks before the North Vietnamese came, the full-time missionaries left, taking with them my translation of the Book of Mormon which was printed in Salt Lake City, and my work on the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price. Both of these latter translations served as a major source for the final printed versions. But it was to be many years before I had the opportunity to see them. I was asked to move into the chapel to take care of it, but a week later, I received a call from the American embassy giving instructions on when and where the Vietnamese members could leave the country. I was given the privilege of being the first to board the airplane taking us to freedom. I felt humble and grateful, but my heart was confused. Most Vietnamese are attached to their motherland. The idea of leaving home forever hurt so much that many could not think of leaving. My Heavenly Father had given me great blessings in that land, so I felt loyal to it and decided to stay.
When the North Vietnamese took over Saigon, they imprisoned all South Viet Nam’s government officials and military, including Brother The, the president of our branch, and all my brothers, a son, and a son-in-law. At the end of 1975, they confiscated my property. They also wanted to put me in jail because of my past contact with Americans.
And so I tried to escape from Viet Nam. I went to an island, Phu-Quoc, close to Cambodia. I took all my scriptures, translations, and books and buried them in the beach; then I bought a boat preparing to escape. But I was not successful. The police put me in prison for three days, but because I was an old woman, they let me go. I was not able to go back to get the books and translations. They remain there to this day.
For five years I stayed close to the coast and used all my resources and strength trying to escape. I used a different name each time I tried because people would recognize my last name. I tried many different disguises—a merchant, a nun, a peddler.
One attempt I remember well. About eighty men, women, and children escaped in a small boat. Within two days, we reached international waters, but the boat’s engine failed. We drifted for fifteen days. We ran out of food and drinking water and just lay motionless on the boat’s deck awaiting death.
Finally we heard the noise of a ship’s engine. We waved for help. It was a ship from Europe. After giving us food and water, they towed our boat back to Vung-Tau harbor and the North Vietnamese. We wept openly. Many men, unable to accept such a fate, jumped into the sea and sank beneath the waves. The police imprisoned us. Luckily, I spent only a few months in jail.
On my last attempt in 1981, I was with about twenty people, waiting at the Vung-Tau beach at night for a boat. The security guards saw us and gave chase. Two women and I began to climb a hill fearfully. After about an hour, we came to a small deserted enclosure and remained there until morning.
When the sun rose, we could see we were in a cave that had been converted into a shelter complete with doors that were still in good condition. The floor was concrete, and the cave contained some used cooking utensils and pieces of broken furniture. We felt hungry, so we went out to search for food. To our surprise, we found that we were in a large, deserted orchard with trees filled with mangoes, apples, and other fruits. It was a still, quiet place, with a small pagoda nearby.
In the evening, the two women prepared to leave, but I was so weary from the fears of the past years and so despairing that I didn’t want to move anymore. I chose to stay.
The first night alone, I became afraid of my lonely, deserted situation. I left the cave and knelt down on a rock to pray. Through my tears and my loneliness, I asked Father in Heaven to give me the courage and strength to survive this ordeal. A peace and calm came upon me, and I knew that I could remain there.
This is my testimony of prayer. Whenever I have been upset or have struggled with particular challenges, I have prayed. Heavenly Father always hears and answers my prayers. He always listens to his children.
My life as a hermit began. Shaving my head, I disguised myself as an old, poor Buddhist nun. Occasionally, I went to the market down the hill to exchange ripened fruit for things I needed. I learned that the cave was called the Tiger Den—because a tiger used to live there before the villagers drove it out and made the cave into a shelter.
Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
Four years passed by slowly. I pondered and prayed. I wrote songs, poems, and books and tended a garden. No one knew who I was. Two of my children were still in Viet Nam, and I was able to send them letters. But I could not receive any—I didn’t have an address. Besides, I could not visit or receive visits from anyone because I felt I would bring trouble to them.
One morning, after working very hard in the garden, I felt unusually tired and decided to go to the hospital. In the office, I put my identification card on the desk; it was the only document I had with my real name on it. A woman close by saw it and asked, “Are you Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy?”
I backed away and said, “Why do you ask?” She gestured for me to follow her to where she had her bag. From it she took out a letter, removed one page and allowed me to read this paragraph: “My dear Sister Thuy, you should try to find Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy, who we think is living somewhere near the Vung-Tau seashore. The Church of Jesus Christ at Salt Lake City wants to contact her. Signed Quoc-Phong.”
When I saw the name of the Church, I burst into tears. Through my new-found friend, I was able to contact the remaining members in Saigon. It was 1985, ten years since I had lost contact with the Church.
Christmas that year was a memorable one. I took the bus to Saigon, where the members met together for the first time in ten years in Viet Nam. The meeting was in a park. There were nearly one hundred people there. We had ice cream and cake. Later, at our table, brethren holding the priesthood broke bread and poured water into small glasses for the sacrament. We bowed our heads and prayed silently. Our joy was full.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.
Although I am now in the United States, the memory of my experiences in Viet Nam stays with me. I pray that our Lord will bless all my brothers and sisters who remain in Viet Nam. I know by personal experience that nothing can destroy the gospel our Heavenly Father has given us.

Seated across from me was a despondent man, head buried in hands, sobbing from the inevitable consequences of repeated violations of the commandments of God. He anguished: “I don’t know what to do. Everything is pressing in on me. I’m tired of running. There is no peace, no happiness. When I pray, no one is listening. What’s the use?”
I have known him for a long time. His parents and others have tried to give him guidance with little success. Because of his choices, he has become separated from the truths that would help him. He has not cultivated faith in the Master nor in the power of prayer. His decisions are centered on what could quickly satisfy his cravings. He either ignores problems or lies about them. He has manipulated the generosity of parents and friends to attempt a quick fix to challenges. He does not evaluate the consequences of today’s decisions on tomorrow’s life.
As my heart sorrowed for him, I realized he does not see the world as it really is—a place of joy and happiness, of true friendships where faith in Jesus Christ and obedience to His teachings invite the Holy Ghost to prompt correct decisions. He lives in an environment dominated by the influence of Satan. He has not followed sound counsel, because in his world he cannot see how it would possibly work for him. This distorted view of life is reality to him. It was forged as he succumbed to the subtle temptations of “Go ahead. Try it. Nobody will ever know. It’s your life. Live it the way you want to. They can’t force you. You have your moral agency.”
These promptings and the allure of the forbidden led him down a path that seemed fascinatingly attractive. He was carried on the crest of the wave of appetite and passion, oblivious to the consequences until the inevitable crushing encounter with the laws of God occurred. That produced pain, remorse, and regret. Then Satan provided other direction: “There is no way back. You might as well keep doing what you’ve been doing. It’s hopeless to try to change.” Because of his sins, he cannot see a way out of his failures. He will not see the tools needed for a new life in his current environment. His tragic, confining world has been created by the violation of eternal law, motivated by desire for a quick response.

Near my home was a hotel we often went to that had an arcade, a bowling alley, and a good restaurant. I spent many fun times bowling with my brothers and our friends. To get to the bowling alley, we had to go through the hotel’s casino. There is a distinct image in my mind to this day of the smell of cigarette and cigar smoke and the dropping of coins into the metal basins from the slot machines. The image of countless people sitting in the same place for hours playing cards or pulling levers on slot machines seems to be a constant reminder to me of the shallow habit of gambling.
One day a friend of mine, while leaving the bowling alley, tried his luck at a game of chance they called “Megabucks.” The winnings were well over a million dollars. You had to play several dollars at a time to have a chance at winning. Of course, he lost, and he kept on losing. Within five minutes he lost $60, and the only thing he had to show for it was his contribution to the grand total that would eventually go to someone else. My friend lost $60, yet I gained a greater distaste for the gambling habit and a greater resolve to keep the Lord’s commandments. Like other occasions in my life, this became a defining moment that strengthened my resolve to put my occasional past blemishes behind me and turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart.

It was such a blessing to attend the temple daily. As I did, I felt many changes in my spiritual thoughts, like I was receiving more knowledge and greater wisdom. I could hear the Holy Sprit’s voice both when I was awake and in my dreams. One night I could not sleep. I closed my eyes and saw my stake president talking with me about what I would do after attending the temple, that my children would serve missions and that we would work hard to accomplish good things.
My mind was filled with so many ideas as I listened to the Spirit. For example, while staying in the patron house, I felt very helpless because my children and I were hungry. I didn’t know where to buy food. It was a different country, with different people and a different language. I prayed to Heavenly Father for a friend to help me. I heard to a voice say “Go to the temple Kajal” so I went to the temple to attend a second session. After the session, I was changing my clothes when suddenly a senior missionary named Sister Edward asked, “Sister Mahana, how are you? What are you doing about food?” I cried because I was so hungry and I said, “Please help me. Just give me bread because we have no flour and no rice. There are six children with us and all the food is finished.” She gave me a warm hug and said, “Don’t worry. I will go to the market with you after the temple. You are my children so if you have any problem, you talk with me.” I was so happy and suddenly I felt like this country was my country. I thought, “I am not alone here.” Even though all the people there were Chinese, they were also my family. I really enjoyed the last two or three days in the temple and patron housing.
I am grateful for the opportunity I had to attend the temple and be sealed with my family. I learned many things both while preparing to go and while we were there. This experience taught me more patience, more wisdom and more spiritual things. I love my Father.

We had the rare privilege of serving our mission in New England, which included the birthplace of the Prophet Joseph Smith tucked away in the hills of Vermont. It was, and still is, a sacred place to our family. A granite shaft 38 & 1/2 feet had been raised on a hill to remember each year of the prophet's life. Often missionaries met with us there. Can you imagine a testimony meeting of missionaries who regularly witnessed Joseph Smith's seeing the Father and the Son to the people of New England, sharing with each other that witness in the very spot where the Prophet was born?
I remember distinctly walking silently with about 150 missionaries to a shady glen only a few feet from where he was born. A witness of his goodness, his sacred calling, his reality, came down on me that day with a power that I can never forget.
Perhaps one of the most eloquent testimonies I heard during those years was our eight-year-old daughter, Emily, who took the opportunity to walk to the monument alone each time we visited the place. I remember her saying, one late afternoon as we were about to pull ourselves away, "I wish I could hug the monument!" And then, "I love you, Joseph Smith!"
Emily, now 49, and seven children later, recently wrote: "As a child, newly baptized, I remember how I loved being at the Prophet's birthplace in Vermont. When my father spoke of his beloved 'Joseph' I had a sense of the Prophet so vivid that it was as if he were there. I loved him and I knew he was a prophet. That testimony burned in me then and is undeniable now. It floods over me again whenever I go to South Royalton.

Ethan Mangum’s path towards his mission in Reno, Nevada, was significantly shaped by the islands he called home throughout his life. Having lived in four island nations across the Caribbean and the Pacific, Ethan credits the people he encountered in these paradisiacal locations for strengthening his resolve to serve as a missionary. He recalls, “When you live overseas, missionary work isn’t something you do once a week, it’s a part of your daily life. People know who you are. They know you are a disciple of Jesus Christ, and they expect you to act differently; to truly live the values you say you will live. That is something I learned from the members who were my friends and adopted family. They taught me that being a disciple of Christ is just part of your life.”
Ethan’s journey began when he moved to St. Kitts and Nevis as an infant. He heard stories from his family about the joy of meeting with faithful Saints in members’ living rooms, emphasizing that the gospel remains true even when the congregation is small. One of his favorite stories of faith during this time is of an ocean baptism where torrential rains halted just long enough for the members to walk to the beach, perform the ordinance, and return to their makeshift chapel before the downpour resumed.
From the Caribbean, Ethan’s adventures led him to Aruba, where he heard English, Dutch, Spanish, and of course Papiamentu spoken as he met with his branch family. In the San Nicolas Branch, he witnessed not only the Saints’ faith but also the daily acts of service they performed for one another and learned that the Lord’s love is not bound by language or nationality.
Next, his journey took him to the enchanting rainforests and towering peaks of Fiji in the South Pacific, where he attended schools of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints near the Suva Fiji Temple. During his seven years there, he encountered numerous miracles brought about by the unwavering faith of the members. He vividly remembers a cyclone that threatened the rededication of the Suva Fiji Temple. He recalls, “We stopped the cultural show early and went home to wait out the storm. We were asked to pray that the storm would be redirected so that the rededication could happen the next day. The faith of the members was strong, and the temple was spared. Even though there was destruction across Suva and other parts of Fiji, the temple grounds were clean. Not a tree branch was out of place, and the rededication proceeded with tears of joy.”
Ethan’s faith continued to grow as he witnessed another remarkable event, where collective prayer changed the course of a storm that threatened President Russell M. Nelson’s arrival in Suva. They greeted him by singing “We Thank Thee O God, for a Prophet” and President Nelson responded to their faith, saying, “I wondered if you could do it. You turned off the rain.”
After his time in the Pacific, Ethan returned to the Caribbean island of Antigua, the land of 365 beaches. There, he found a community of Saints from various islands, and South and Central America, who welcomed him with open arms. Despite the pandemic disrupting in-person meetings, Ethan continued to witness selfless service and the tender mercies of the Lord in the lives of His children.
After Antigua, Ethan briefly resided in the Orlando, Florida area, where he was inspired by the selfless service of Caribbean-origin members who strengthened his desire to serve a mission. His family and island friends and loved ones are thrilled for his opportunity to serve in the intermountain northwest, where he was born.
Ethan reflects on his island upbringing with gratitude, saying, “I am so grateful to have been raised in the islands. The people of the islands are kind, compassionate, and love the Lord. They have been an example to me of living the gospel of Jesus Christ in their everyday lives and have influenced my decision to serve a mission. I know the gospel is true. I know that Jesus Christ, our brother, died for us. I know that Joseph Smith restored the gospel in these latter days so that we could have the opportunity to know peace in this life, to share the gospel with others, and one day return to live with our Heavenly Father. I am thankful to be able to share this message with the people of Nevada, and wherever my future travels may take me, including when I return to the Caribbean and the Pacific, I can continue to spread the gospel.”

One day while serving in the Texas Fort Worth Mission, my companion and I finished visiting some investigators and then realized we didn’t have a dinner appointment. We decided to stop at one of the many nearby fast-food restaurants.
When I stepped to the cash register, an employee took my order and asked me my name so she could call me over the loudspeaker when my meal was ready. “Elder García,” I replied.
The woman did not seem to understand my English. Again she asked me my name. To avoid any further misunderstanding, I pointed to my name tag, which bore my name and the name of the Church in Spanish.
As I turned to sit with my companion and wait for my order, I happened to notice the name she had written. Instead of writing my name, she had written, “Jesucristo.” Maybe she made the mistake because the Savior’s name stands out on the Church’s logo. Or maybe she just wasn’t paying attention.
Each time I remember this simple experience, I feel a firm desire to have people think of Jesus Christ when they see me—not because of a name tag but because I am bearing His name by doing the things He taught us to do.

diabetes: a serious disease when your body doesn’t use sugar correctly
Miracles happen every day. Some are big, and some are small. Sometimes people have a hard time seeing miracles, even big ones. Just before my 11th birthday, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. This is my biggest miracle. I’ll explain why.
For a long time, I didn’t feel well. I wasn’t sick enough to tell my mom, but it wasn’t good. Over the summer it got worse. I didn’t want to go anywhere, even when my family was doing something fun. I was just too tired.
pancreas: a part of the body that helps food digest
My mom took me to the doctor for a different reason, but my doctor saw what my parents and I did not. All my symptoms were connected, and I was in a dangerous condition. My pancreas was shutting down. In the hospital the nurses were amazed that we had caught it so soon. Most kids are very sick when they finally find out. Now I knew what was wrong and how to feel better.
I know I can live a long life with diabetes because of the miracles of science, research, and modern medicine. I know I have an important job to do in my life. And this is my miracle.

During high school David played basketball and football. The school bought some inexpensive jerseys for the 12 players on the football team. But the players had to wear their basketball shoes. Their chemistry teacher, the only one at Oakley High who had actually seen a football game, taught them a few simple plays.

The school’s first-ever football game was against Twin Falls, the previous year’s Idaho state champs. David was amazed as he saw 39 players in full uniform run onto the field to warm up.

David explained: “After two plays we didn’t have any desire to have the ball—so we would kick it, and soon they would score. When they got the ball, they would run a baffling play and score. Our problem was to get rid of the ball—it was less punishing.”

In the final minutes, one of David’s teammates intercepted a pass and ran for his life. He scored, making the final score 106 to 6. About this game, Elder Haight later said, “In all things success depends upon previous preparation.”3

Not very many years ago in a Maori village in New Zealand, a baby boy was born. He soon received a blessing from his grandfather who said in the blessing that this boy would one day become an educational leader among his people. Some of the men in the village laughed at that blessing; it seemed so unrealistic. That boy, Barney Wihongi, earned his doctorate and became president of the Church College of New Zealand. He became president of the Church College of New Zealand at age 35 and had influence among other educators in the country of New Zealand. The promises given to Brother Wihongi as a baby amused some. Brother Barney Wihongi inspired many!

The deacons and teachers of the Sandton Ward, Sandton South Africa Stake, had a rare opportunity to explore a game preserve and learn to live, for three days, with nature as it exists in this rugged and beautiful part of the world.
The group, including the young men and their leaders, met a guide who accompanied them into the Doorndraai Dam Nature Reserve. The game park had a variety of wild animals ranging from leopards to mongeese, from giraffes to hyenas. The group had to truck in containers of water as well as food and equipment for their stay.
The first night, as darkness fell and as the campfire burned low, each member of the group was assigned an hour watch. A schedule of night watches is necessary in an area where large animals prowl. For some, the strange noises and the stories about prowling hyenas and leopards did not allow for a restful night.
The next morning the group set off on a hike. The guide pointed out plants, birds, and game. They often came across such animals as zebra, wildebeest, impala, water buck, eland, warthogs, and monkeys.
After the day’s exercise, no one had trouble sleeping the second night. The hour assigned to night watch was a welcome time to be alone, listen to the sounds of the preserve, and reflect on a loving Heavenly Father’s creations.
Heading for home, the young men packed up, then obliterated all signs of their camp. They were leaving the preserve as they had found it, except for the new appreciation of nature each one carried home.

My husband and I first met in the 4th grade and have been in love ever since. We were blessed with four beautiful daughters and have added incredible sons-in-law and grandbabies to our family. Our family is our world, including our exceptional parents and all of our beloved extended family. They say it takes a special man to be a dad of all girls. Let me tell you, my husband is a very special man who would do anything for our four daughters. Many years ago, I was out of town while my husband stayed home with our young girls. My preschool daughter wanted her hair to be curly for school and asked her dad for help. Not only did Brother Cluff tackle this request with gusto, he went way beyond and decided she should have a perm, which is a chemical process where her hair would remain permanently curly for months. Why have curly hair for just a day when she could have curly hair for months? And why stop with just her? He decided to give all the girls perms while I was out of town. Having never even touched a curling iron before, my undaunted husband went to a beauty supply store and learned all he could about the process of giving perms and left with a bag of perm rods and chemical solution. My daughters were a little skeptical that it would work, especially with their rookie dad at the helm, but Brother Cluff assured them to trust the process. If he followed the instructions correctly, they would have permanently curly hair, despite the awful smell, uncomfortable perm rods, and lots of hair tugging. I’ll never forget the beaming faces of my curly-haired daughters when I stepped off the plane, or my husband who was beaming the most. He had been right—by trusting the process, they had achieved the goal of curly hair.

Several years ago, donations were made to create a fund for an endowed chair at the University of Utah. The chair was named the “Dr. Russell M. Nelson and Dantzel W. Nelson Presidential Chair in Cardiothoracic Surgery at the University of Utah.” It honors the pioneering contributions of President Nelson and the support he received from his late wife. The appointed faculty member holds the title of “the Nelson chair.”

The investiture ceremony happened in 2018. The ceremony included President Nelson, his current wife, Sister Wendy W. Nelson, the president of the University of Utah, and other dignitaries. The first person selected and appointed to this endowed chair and who thus carried the title “the Nelson chair,” was Dr. Craig H. Selzman. Dr. Selzman is a wonderfully accomplished cardiothoracic surgeon who is not of our faith.

The ceremony honored both President Nelson and Dr. Selzman. Both spoke about what this meant to them. President Nelson spoke modestly of a surgical career that had spanned decades and included pioneering work developing what is commonly known as a heart-lung bypass machine. When Dr. Selzman spoke, he surprised me. I had expected him to say nice things about President Nelson. He did so briefly, stating that what President Nelson had done in performing the first open-heart surgery in the state of Utah in 1955 using a heart-lung machine that he himself had built from scratch was “so bold, so ambitious, [and] so crazy.” Dr. Selzman added, “I think it said a lot about his character.” [2]

But then Dr. Selzman spoke about what it meant to him personally to be appointed to the endowed chair named after President Nelson. He said it gave him pause and planted in him a desire to change his attitudes and behaviors and become more like President Nelson. The two never practiced medicine together, separated by a generation or so, but President Nelson’s reputation and character clearly impacted Dr. Selzman.

Dr. Selzman related that earlier that week, on Monday evening, he went through the surgical intensive care unit after a long day in the operating room. He noticed that one of the patients he had operated on earlier was doing poorly and needed to go back to surgery. Dr. Selzman was disappointed. He was irritated because he would have to spend another long night in the hospital. In the past, he would have showered his frustrations on his surgical team. Everyone around him would have been aware that Dr. Selzman was unhappy because he let it show in his tone of voice, the sharpness in his manner, and in his general grumpiness.

This Monday evening, however, he had a quick but life-changing conversation with himself. In the moment, he thought, “On Friday, I will be appointed to the endowed chair named after Dr. Russell M. Nelson. During his surgical career, Dr. Nelson was known as a gentleman, someone who always kept his emotions in check, treated everyone with dignity and respect, and never lost his temper. He was kind and thoughtful of his team. Now that my name will be linked with Dr. Nelson’s, I need to be more like him.”

Dr. Selzman said he composed himself and intentionally changed his attitude. He went into that late-night surgery more complimentary of his staff and more understanding of their frustrations. His efforts to be more like Dr. Nelson created a different atmosphere in the operating room. His surgical team undoubtedly wondered what had happened to their old boss. Notably, Dr. Selzman liked who he was in the operating room that night.

My appreciation for Dr. Selzman’s remarkable experience was made even more profound five years later. In 2023, I attended another ceremony in which President Nelson’s professional papers were donated to the University of Utah. The donation included more than 7,000 operative reports, along with research papers and other professional writings that were compiled during President Nelson’s extraordinary medical career.

In attendance at this second ceremony were President Nelson, Sister Nelson, the President of the University of Utah, the Vice-President of Health Sciences, the Vice-Chair of the Board of Trustees, the Dean of the School of Medicine, the head of the Health Sciences Library, the Chairman of Surgery, and Dr. Selzman, the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery.

Several people spoke about the importance of the donation of President Nelson’s papers. The president of the University of Utah referred to President Nelson as its most distinguished alumnus. The last speaker was Dr. Selzman. Again, he surprised me.

Dr. Selzman began by mentioning that “Whenever you start talking about health care with [President Nelson], he gets a little twinkle in his eye.… It’s just amazing to see how energized he [gets] talking about all that stuff.” [3] But then, Dr. Selzman provided a follow-up on the effect of being “the Nelson chair,” not just on him, but also on members of his Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery. Referring to President Nelson’s initials, RMN, Dr. Selzman said, “There is an ‘RMN’ ethos that now pervades the Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery at the University of Utah. We know that we can’t live up to it, but it is aspirational.”

For those not familiar with the word ethos, it is used to describe the guiding beliefs or ideals that characterize a group. Dr. Selzman mentioned that in frustrating situations, when some choice words come into his mind, he remembers the RMN ethos. He continued, “I do what we now teach our trainees to do—focus, get over it, and do the best you can. This ethos lives in us every day.”

Dr. Selzman observed, “One of the most important things in my office is the medallion I received for the Nelson endowed chair. I remind myself every day of this ethos. We give lapel pins to every member of the division and new trainee. The pin has the University of Utah logo at its center with the words Cardiothoracic Surgery underneath the logo. Around the pin’s exterior are four things, three words ‘Teach,’ ‘Heal,’ and ‘Discover,’ and at the very bottom, the letters, RMN." The ethos that is characteristic of President Nelson’s life, Dr. Selzman said, “is foundational to our approach; we teach it to everyone.”

My wife and I are impressed by the effect President Nelson’s name had on Dr. Selzman. Not only has he tried to emulate President Nelson’s attributes, but he has also encouraged others to do the same. Dr. Selzman is striving to take on President Nelson’s characteristics because his name, Selzman, is now linked to President Nelson’s.

One day I decided to visit my granny who lives far away in the country. She invited me over for lunch and to ride her horses. We had a wonderful afternoon together and enjoyed each other’s company. After we talked for a couple of hours, it was time for me to go. I started up my motorcycle and began my long journey home.
After two hours of driving I was in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly my motorbike ran out of gasoline. I couldn’t believe it! And my grandmother was too far away to help. I put my hand in my pocket to look for my cell phone, but it wasn’t there. I was terrified. Where could it be? I must have dropped it in the road.
I thought I had no way out of this situation. I had no idea what to do. Then suddenly I felt a voice that said: “Pray always, that you may come off conqueror” (D&C 10:5). So I decided to pray. In that moment two of my friends appeared and rescued me.

May I illustrate this truth with a personal experience. Many years ago, while serving as a bishop, I felt impressed to call upon Augusta Schneider, a widow from the Alsace-Lorraine area of Europe who spoke very little English, although she was fluent in French and German. For years after that first impression I would visit with her at Christmastime. On one occasion, Augusta said, “Bishop, I have something of great value to me which I would like to present to you.” She then went to a special place in her modest apartment and retrieved the gift. It was a beautiful piece of felt, perhaps six by eight inches in size, to which she had pinned the medals her husband had been presented for his service as a member of the French forces in World War I. She said, “I would like you to have this personal treasure which is so close to my heart.” I protested politely and suggested there must be some member of her extended family to whom the gift should be given. “No,” she replied firmly, “the gift is yours, for you have the soul of a Frenchman.”
Shortly after presenting this special gift to me, Augusta departed mortality and went home to that God who gave her life. Occasionally I would wonder concerning her declaration that I had “the soul of a Frenchman.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what that meant. I still don’t.
Many years later, I had the privilege to accompany President Ezra Taft Benson to the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, which temple would serve German-, French-, and Dutch-speaking members. In packing for the trip, I felt impressed to take along the gift of medals, without any thought concerning what I would do with them. I’d had them a number of years.
In a French-speaking dedication session, the temple was filled. The singing and messages presented were beautiful. Gratitude for God’s blessings penetrated each heart. I saw from my conducting notes that the session included members from the Alsace-Lorraine area.
During my remarks, I observed that the organist had the name of Schneider. I therefore related the account of my association with Augusta Schneider, then stepped to the organ and presented the organist with the medals, along with the charge that since his name was Schneider, he had a responsibility to pursue the Schneider name in his genealogical activities. The Spirit of the Lord confirmed in our hearts that this was a special session. Brother Schneider had a difficult time preparing to play the closing number of the dedicatory service, so moved was he by the Spirit which we felt there in the temple.
I knew that the treasured gift—even the widow’s mite, for it was all Augusta Schneider had—was placed in the hand of one who would ensure that many with the souls of Frenchmen would now receive the blessings the holy temples provide, both to the living and for those who have passed beyond mortality.

While in Guadalajara, Mexico, Sister Yee learned about and saw so many incredible examples of sisters acting according to those sympathies as they sought to meet a local need.

One such sister was Sister Pulido, who saw a need at a local hospital to help families and individuals who came from far away and needed food and clothing while they waited for treatment. She gathered 120 Relief Society sisters, several missionaries, and others in the community to find donations of food, water, blankets, and clothing. About 1,500 people donated goods, and the sisters and others prepared lunches and food for nearly 1,200 people. The goods were given to those who were waiting their turn for treatment at the hospital.

This sister said she was doing this because she had compassion for these people. With tears in her eyes, she humbly explained that she had been one of those individuals waiting in the hospital as her husband came and went for cancer treatment. She said her greatest blessing and desire is to minister as the Savior would.

Tobogganing was a great sport in my younger days, and the foothills above our house offered unlimited slopes for our favorite sport. Our only trouble was that we didn’t have a toboggan large enough to hold more than one person.
One day when I was about ten years old, two of my friends asked me if I would go with them to an abandoned shack high on the hill. Its sides were made of corrugated iron, but they just hung loose, flapping in the breeze. With one end turned up, what a perfect toboggan a piece of that shack would make!
I hurried home after school to get a hammer. The only one I could find belonged to my father’s dental laboratory equipment. Father was not at home, so I took the hammer and went with my friends.
The snow was quite deep that winter and the days were short. We stayed longer than we had planned, and it began to get dark before we finished making our toboggan.
Finally we decided we better hurry home before it was too dark to see. There was no trail on the hill, and the snow came up above our knees. We started running down, jumping through the deep snow.
My hands were cold and half numb. All of a sudden I felt Father’s hammer slip through my fingers and fly into the snow behind me. I called to my friends to wait. They stopped to see what the trouble was, but soon they became impatient and insisted on going on.
I went back in my tracks to try and find the hammer, but it hadn’t even left a mark in the snow. I looked around frantically.
It was really getting dark now, and I was alone up on the hill in the deep snow. I knew I shouldn’t have taken my father’s hammer without his permission, for he needed the tool in his work. Now it was lost and I couldn’t find it!
As I sat in the snow, I was so sad and cold and lonely that I felt just like crying. Then I remembered how I had been taught that when I needed help, I could pray to our Heavenly Father—no matter where I was. I needed help, so I put my face in my hands and prayed with all my heart.
As I opened my eyes and rolled sideways to get up, my hand went down deep in the snow and touched something hard. I took hold of it and pulled it up through the snow. It was Father’s hammer!
I thanked our Heavenly Father for answering my prayer. Then I jumped up and hurried as fast as I could to overtake the other boys who were way ahead of me.
As I overtook them, I realized I had learned something of special importance that day—that we are never alone and that our prayers are heard and answered.

When I was a deacon, my mother told me that Elder William J. Critchlow, Jr., an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, was coming to speak in our stake conference. We arrived late and had to sit in the back, far from the podium—and when Elder Critchlow stood to speak, I couldn’t see him. Mother told me to carry a chair up the aisle and place it in front of the podium. It must have looked rather strange to Elder Critchlow to see a twelve-year-old boy in the middle of the aisle, staring straight up at him.
I don’t remember much of what he said. But as he talked, a spirit settled over me, whispering, “This is a man of God. You may believe him.” At the end of the session, he came up to me and laid his hand on my shoulder. A deep peace and happiness came over me, and I learned in that moment what it means to be blessed. That early experience taught me that by hearkening to the words of the Brethren, we are on the path to becoming truly blessed in the presence of Christ. Oh, how happy we will be if we come unto Christ by trusting and following his servants.

Then, one day your Sunday School teacher asks you who your heroes are. That’s exactly what Sunday School teacher Mark Graham of the Manhattan Second Ward asked his class. Well, that wasn’t exactly the question. Actually, the whole thing started with a discussion of greatness. The first question really was “What makes a great person so great?” From there it progressed to a class project to discover their real heroes and the qualities they have.
This being a Sunday School class, naturally the focus is on spiritual qualities of spiritual heroes—and even more specifically, people who influence your life personally. So rule out the athletes and performers, the millionaires and politicians. As one of the class members, Ben Cottam, explains: “In the beginning when we started this project, we talked a lot about people doing big things, but really, the most important thing that goes into being a great person is the love and the caring. If you love people and care about them, that’s going to make you great.”
Other qualities the class listed included determination, commitment, service to others, modesty, humility, courage, and love of God. Once class members knew what qualities they were looking for, heroes start turning up pretty close to home. Very close. In fact, the list included a number of parents, several Young Men and Young Women advisers …
Before we go any further, remember where we are: Manhattan. The chapel is on Broadway, across from the Lincoln Center. These kids attend schools all over New York. Many of them are headed for distinguished universities all over the country. They are bright and articulate and aware. Typical New Yorkers, they are not easily impressed. And here they are, listing their heroes as parents, advisers.
Janna Beck picked her mother “because of her service to me and to my whole family.” Beyond service to the family, “Mom always volunteers in the schools. She is also a volunteer at the state women’s prison to help prisoners set their lives on track.” Besides, “She’s always reading the scriptures. I want to have that quality.”
Kara Beck chose her dad, Gary, who’s an attorney in the Coast Guard. “Dad is always concerned about other people. He’s always positive. I’ve never heard him say anything bad about anyone. He gives copies of the Book of Mormon to everyone and does it in such a way that people aren’t offended.”
Myung Lee is Korean by birth. He’s stayed behind in New York to finish his schooling while his father—his hero—has returned to Korea with the rest of the family to serve as a mission president. Myung Lee says of his father, “He constantly has good thoughts on his mind, thoughts of Christ. My dad really seems to be focused. His faith in Jesus Christ is that He can guide him through anything and that my father will always follow. That’s how he leads his life every day, and that sort of tells me to lead my life that way.”
Neylan McBaine’s mother, Ariel Bybee, has had a distinguished career singing with the Metropolitan Opera Company. An accomplished musician herself, Neylan understands just how great her mother’s career achievements are. Yet it’s her mother’s spiritual qualities that make her a hero to Neylan, qualities like compassion, awareness of others’ needs, working hard at Church callings. But then it really gets personal. “She’s always been willing to put the career second, to cut down on the time that’s needed to have a full star’s career to always come home and be with me, fix me dinner, be there when I get home from school. I’ve always known that if she had to choose between me and a career, she would choose me.”
Love of the Savior, love of the family, love for others—the picture of a real hero begins to emerge as class members talk about what they have learned. Others reinforce that image.
Jeremy Vogelmann chose his mother “because she’s a really strong woman. She stands up for everyone. She has a really big heart. If she sees someone in need, she will go and feed them or do whatever she can.”
Kevin Vogelmann, Jeremy’s younger brother, selected Serge Bushman, his priests quorum adviser, for his compassion, humility, devotion to the quorum members, and spirituality. After watching his adviser, Kevin defines a hero as “someone who is always trying to make himself better.”
Obviously, any human hero is going to have faults. If you pick distant heroes, like famous people, those faults may not be obvious. But when you live with someone like a parent, or watch someone week after week like a teacher or adviser, you are going to see flaws. For example, after he spends several minutes talking (in her presence) about how great his mom is, you ask Benjamin Cottam if his mother is perfect. “No, of course not,” he jokes. “That’s why my first choice was Santa Claus.”
That’s also why humility is one of the foremost traits the class listed for a hero. You’re not going to find a perfect human being to imitate, but you can find good people who continually improve their own lives at the same time they are reaching out to others. You can find people who are honest with themselves about their faults. And you can find people who have been wise in their own choice of heroes.
Take Marsha and Gary Beck, for example. Remember, Janna and Kara picked them as their heroes. But who are Mom’s and Dad’s heroes? “The Savior,” Sister Beck answers simply. Brother Beck adds a new twist to this hero thing: “My kids are my heroes. And my parents, my Primary teachers—everybody that I’ve ever had a chance to rub shoulders with—there’s a little bit of heroism in all of them, and I have always tried to find what that is and to incorporate that into my own life.”
Can you really be a hero to your hero? Well, Gary Beck isn’t the only “hero” in this study who feels that way. Kristin Baxter is the Laurel adviser in the Manhattan Second Ward. She was picked as a hero by Leslie Mantillas, a recent convert to the Church. Leslie, who went through some tough times after her baptism, credits Kristin with always being there for her. “She never judged me. Her love always showed through.” But Leslie is something of a hero to Kristin, too. (As the two of them talk about it, tears well in their eyes.) “I think it goes both ways,” Kristin says. “I think she’s a hero, too. A hero is someone you look up to, even if they have a couple of faults. You know their heart.”
Maybe Adam Fennimore sums it up as well as anyone. Adam, who’s now serving a mission in Madrid, Spain, says, “A hero is someone whose characteristics you would like for your own. You find people who are like you want to be.”
Heroes like these can be found anywhere—in the smallest of towns and in the smallest of families. You’ve probably never heard of most of these heroes before, and maybe you’ll never see or hear their names again. That’s okay. Maybe no one’s ever heard of your heroes, either. It doesn’t matter. If they make you want to be better than you are, if they lead you closer to the Savior, if they make you want to be someone else’s hero in turn—those are things that matter.

Back in November 1999, I was asked by our college dean to give a presentation to our college's faculty about how to prepare for Y2K. "Y2K" stood for the year 2000--particularly January 1, 2000--when apparently all computers and basically anything electronic was supposed to crash; when life as we knew it would come to a screeching halt. Personally, I did not worry too much about it. I knew that I would be with a group of students up in the Teton Mountains for a weeklong backcountry ski and winter camping trip called Winter Summit. Nothing happened to us. We had no computers and no electricity, just a lot of great new powder snow. I don't believe anything happened anywhere.
But, still there were many who were worried, which is why I was asked to give the talk. Having taught outdoor survival skills, winter camping, and other outdoor courses, I guess our dean thought I could give some suggestions on how to deal with the impending doom. Without asking him, I decided to take a different approach to the topic. Instead of discussing how to prepare for Y2K, I gave my presentation on "YK2?" Here the "Y" did not represent a year, nor did "2K." Rather the "Y" stood for a question: Why? And the K2 stood for just that--K2--the world's second highest mountain and one of the most difficult and challenging to climb.