Gospel Story Finder

James Hutchinson Western was born in Deseret, Utah on 1st May 1898 to loving parents, Samuel Winsborough and Mary Alice. James was the sixth of twelve children. At the age of 22, Elder James H. Western set sail for the British Isles to serve a full-time mission for the Church.
On arrival in February 1921, Elder Western was assigned to the Liverpool Conference. He was transferred to Wales in March 1922, and though just 23 years old he was set apart as the president of the Welsh Conference, under the direction of President Orson F. Whitney (1855-1931), Apostle and president of the European Mission.
This was a time of dedicated service for President Western, one to which he gave his whole commitment, sharing his leadership skills and gospel experiences, providing training to both local leaders and missionaries in developing branches. He also continually cared for and encouraged the full-time travelling missionaries throughout the district, giving guidance and direction in spreading the gospel to many areas of south and west Wales.
After a very busy and gospel-promoting period, Elder Western was honourably released as president of the Welsh conference. He arrived in Salt Lake City on 20 January 1923.
Sadly, on Saturday 17 February 1923 surgeons operated to remove a tumour on James’ spinal cord, but to no avail. He died the following Wednesday with his parents at his side. Their beloved son, not yet 25 years old, had served his country and served a mission for the Church. Now they had to part with him again until they reunite in the eternities.
President David O. McKay (1873-1970) wrote, “Sorrow made heavy every heart in the Welsh conference last Monday, when the announcement was received of the death of Elder James H. Western. . . .
“His labors were characterized by zeal, courage, and indefatigable effort; his daily life, by sincerity, undeviating integrity, dignified humility, and an earnest desire to make better and happier all who came within the radiance of his life. . . .
“As a true servant of Christ, he has won the welcome:
“‘Well done, good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.’”1
Though young, he accepted the mantle of leadership and with all diligence and commitment fulfilled his calling with love, dignity, and an ever-faithful heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ and the people he loved so dearly.

I thought about my wife at the time we were married. She was safe and comfortable in the harbor of her family. As a single woman, she lived with her parents and had a high position in her profession. She was making good money. She left the security of her harbor and married me. She came to live with me in very humble conditions. We had a small studio apartment. This will help you understand just how small it was: When the sun shone in our window in the morning, we had to leave the apartment to make room for the sunbeams to enter. There was not room for both the sunbeams and us in our small home. But we were happy and blessed; we found a new harbor for ourselves.

Anciently, Laie was considered a Pu'uhonua or a place of sanctuary and refuge. In more recent history, Elder Scott D. Whiting said, "Laie is a gathering place and has been since the mid-1800s".[2] I believe it is still today. It's a place that gathers in people like Yee Yee Mon – otherwise known as Olive. Who is from Myanmar
Myanmar is a country of over 55 million people. In spite of this large population, the Church is still emerging, and proselytizing is not allowed. Olive was baptized 17 years ago as one of the first members ever baptized in Myanmar.
Her initial interactions with the missionaries were centered around free piano lessons, but she felt like she should oblige their invitations and listen to their missionary lessons. After one meeting, Olive was given President Hinckley's book entitled "Way to Be." She could not stop reading it. She was impressed by the morals and values covered in the book. It opened her mind, and she was led to answers to her prayers - linking every question she had about the Church, Book of Mormon, and Joseph Smith with the answer that they all had to be true.
Olive was the first Sister to serve a mission from her country, despite her mother's apprehension. But it was Olive's persistence and her display of faith by saving her own money and surviving on noodles for months that influenced her mother to support Olive's desire to serve a mission. Olive served in the Pocatello Idaho mission. It was there that further miracles unfolded.
Olive was born with a severe case of Scoliosis. Not only was her spine S-shaped, but it was also twisted. Her life expectancy was projected to be significantly shortened. However, while on her mission, she was able to see specialists and receive corrective spine surgery and therapy, which greatly improved her quality of life.
After returning from her mission, Olive helped with the translation efforts of Church materials and the Book of Mormon into Burmese. She also learned about BYU–Hawaii and worked hard for admission. She majored in Social Work and was known by many for her work ethic and academic success. She turned down an offer to intern with the UN in New York to instead accept an internship in Salt Lake City at the Burmese Refugee Center, where she could work with her people. While a student, Olive not only worked as a carver at the Polynesian Cultural Center but with the Admissions, where she could help and influence others in Myanmar. Because of her efforts, four others from Myanmar are now studying at BYU–Hawaii.
While at BYU–Hawaii, she met and married her husband, Dustin. They now have a baby girl and another on the way. This is a miracle considering doctors told her that she would likely never have children of her own. She is currently getting her Masters in Social Work at BYU in Provo and intends to return to Myanmar to utilize her degrees to help others.

A few days after I had submitted my talk for translation, my beloved eternal companion, Barbara, completed her mortal probation and passed into the spirit world.
As the days have turned into weeks, then months, and now a year since Barbara’s passing, I find myself more fully appreciating this scripture: “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die.” Barbara and I were blessed to “live together in love” for 67 years. But I have learned in a very real way what it means to “weep for the loss” of those we love. Oh, how I love and miss her!
I suppose most of us fail to fully appreciate what others do for us until they are gone. I knew Barbara was always busy, but I did not fully understand the constant family, Church, and community demands upon her time. There were daily consecrated efforts repeated thousands of times through the years that kept our family functioning. And through it all, no one in our family ever heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word.
Floods of memories have washed over me this past year. I have thought about the physically demanding choice she made to be the mother of seven children. Being a homemaker was the only career she ever wanted, and she was in every aspect a consummate professional.
Often I have wondered how she kept track of our children and me. Meal preparation alone was a truly daunting task, not to mention activities such as doing the mountains of laundry our family generated every week and keeping shoes and appropriately sized clothing on the children. We all turned to her on a myriad of other issues that were important to us. And because they were important to us, they were also important to her. She was, in a word, magnificent—as a wife, as a mother, as a friend, as a neighbor, and as a daughter of God.
Now that she has moved on, I am happy that I chose to sit next to her when I came home from the office during the last few months of her life, to hold her hand as we watched the endings of some of her favorite musicals—over and over again because Alzheimer’s would not allow her to remember that she had seen them just the afternoon before. Memories of those special hand-holding sessions are now very, very precious to me.

I guess Annabelle and I sort of grew up together. I was eleven years old when she died, just a few months ago. Dad didn’t see her one day when he was backing out of the driveway in our van. And I guess Annabelle didn’t see Dad. Not in time, anyway. Dad felt so bad. It was the first time I’d seen him cry since he bore his testimony last year at church and told about how we joined the Church.
I think we were all thinking about that this morning when we buried Annabelle under the plum tree in our backyard. Mom had wrapped Annabelle in some pretty green material, and we put her in the hole Dad had dug in the soft earth. Then we all sat quietly in a circle around the little open grave and thought about our cat. Dad called it paying our last respects.
Sunlight shined into Annabelle’s little grave through the limbs of the plumb tree. Mom said it was as though Heavenly Father was filling it with light to remind us that He is with us in our saddest moments—maybe especially then.
Dad said that we’d always be indebted to Annabelle for directing us in our own, unknowing way to the gospel of Jesus Christ and that just as that hole was filled with light, so our hearts will be, too, as we try in our own way each day to share His living truths with others.
We put some daisies from Mom’s flower garden on Annabelle’s grave, and I made a little picket fence around it out of sticks.
I know we will have other pets. Maybe a dog. Maybe another cat. Or maybe something else. But I’ll probably remember Annabelle the best—and that night on Temple Square.

When I turned 18 and had graduated high school, I had an experience that strengthened my testimony of the Lord guiding me with His hand. I had also just graduated from seminary and was a little excited that I didn’t have to wake up early in the morning anymore. My bishop called me to his office and extended a calling for me to be an early-morning seminary teacher. I remember telling the bishop that I was too young for such a calling, I would be teaching my church friends that were almost my age. I felt inadequate, but I accepted the calling to serve. That meant I would have to wake up at 4:30 in the morning, prepare my lesson, and pick up some youth for seminary because they lived far from the chapel.

During that same time, one of the airlines in Brazil was hiring, and I wanted to apply so I could have the benefits to travel the world. Again, I was 18 and I had never stepped foot on an airplane before. One of the requirements for the job was to speak fluent English, and my English was not that great; it was really bad. I had never taken any classes besides the basic English classes in high school. There was no Duolingo or EnglishConnect at that time, but someone gave me some cassette tapes for a course to learn English.

As I prepared for the job interview and English tests required for the job, I would listen to those tapes all day long on my headphones and even in my sleep. I was determined I could learn something in my sleep. I remember praying to Heavenly Father to help me to learn the language so I could pass the written and listening tests and the face-to-face interview in English.

I decided I wasn’t going to apply to be a flight attendant because of the difficult work schedule, but instead I applied for an eight-to-five job at the airline’s ticket office so I could continue teaching seminary and attending college to continue my studies. Somehow, by some amazing miracle, I passed the test after studying for only a couple of weeks, and I was able to answer all the questions and hold a conversation in English during my face-to-face interview.

I got the job at the airline and started working there immediately after high school. This job would later have a great impact on my life. I worked full time at the airline during the day and attended industrial design classes at night. But after one semester, I realized that waking at 4:30 a.m. to teach seminary and getting home after midnight by city bus after my university classes wasn’t sustainable. Financially, this arrangement was also very hard because what I made working full-time was barely enough to pay for my college tuition. I was burned out, and I had to make a decision.

I had to either stop teaching seminary or quit school. Again, I offered a sincere prayer and asked Heavenly Father for His help and guidance. Going to college was one of my dreams, but I had a strong impression that I had to quit school so I could continue teaching seminary and working full-time.

I have experienced these compensating blessings throughout my life, but especially while working for the airline. It gave me the opportunity to travel to many countries. Some of my favorite places to visit were Asia and the Pacific. These travels, that I normally did on my own, allowed me to meet amazing people. They also allowed me to learn about so many cultures and traditions, especially in the Polynesian Islands, and I developed a tremendous love for these places. One of the very first trips I took was coming to Hawaii. I was so impressed by the incredible people I met here, and I remember driving through the North Shore and seeing the beautiful Laie Hawaii Temple. I was so fascinated and remember thinking that one day I would like to get married in this temple. I went to the temple distribution center to buy some temple clothes, and the worker there was a very nice lady. She found out it was my first time in Hawaii, and she told me I must go visit the BYU–Hawaii campus and the Polynesian Cultural Center. I knew about BYU in Provo, but I had no idea there was such a thing as BYU–Hawaii, and I had never heard about the Polynesian Culture Center. She told me her son worked at PCC, and he would get me discounted employee tickets to go. I met the incredible students working at the PCC and saw the bright light they had in their eyes and smiles. I knew for sure that this was a special place.

Then I came to BYU–Hawaii and I felt something different. I felt such a special spirit on this campus. I had a strong impression that I needed to come back to attend school here.

I knew that my parents couldn’t help me financially to go to school at BYU–Hawaii, but I went back home and worked at the airlines for five years, saving up as much as I could with the hope I could come back someday and attend school here. I also continued to teaching seminary classes for those five years, and I have to say that I never felt as close to Heavenly Father and to my Savior as I felt during those years that I prayed and studied the scriptures in depth to teach my friends at seminary.

After five years of saving money to come to school at BYU–Hawaii, I quit my job at the airlines and used my last standby ticket to come to school here. I also brought my younger sister with me to school, and we worked together as tour guides at the PCC until she left for her mission.

On my way here, I went to Utah to prepare and to take the TOEFL English proficiency test, which was one of the things I was missing for my college application. It was there that I met my eternal companion, and he followed me here. After two years of dating, we were married in the Laie Hawaii temple. After I graduated, he started his studies and also graduated from BYU–Hawaii. Now my two older kids are also students at BYU–Hawaii. One is on his mission in Brazil at the moment, but he will be back this Fall.

When I look back, brothers and sisters, I recognize these miracles, I see the Lord's Hands in my life. I know He was blessing me by getting that job that would literally bring me here and would help finance my education, helping me to learn English, and preparing me spiritually by teaching seminary and strengthening my testimony of the gospel and of my dear Savior Jesus Christ.

Let me share an experience with you.

While serving as a missionary in France, not long after the July 14 celebration I referred to earlier, my companion and I had spent the day working with the other missionaries in the city of Nancy. We were scheduled to travel that night to Strasbourg, about a two-hour drive away on the German border. I had returned in the evening with the missionary I was with and was waiting in the apartment for my ­companion to return.

My companion and the other missionary finally arrived a little after 10 p.m., apologizing for the late hour and explaining that they had been in a spirited discussion with an atheist who was trying to convince them of the error of their ways. We quickly packed our things and got on the road. While driving, my companion talked about the conversation with the atheist.

The arguments were all too familiar to me. God may exist, but there is no way to know for sure. And if He does exist, then He doesn’t care about us or He would have stopped the terrible events in the world. Furthermore, our belief in God was a deception that made us feel better about our lives, but the reality was that when we died, there was nothing.

We talked about these issues and about how difficult it is for such a person to even want to know the reality of God. For some reason my companion’s encounter left me perturbed, not because I was shaken by the arguments—for I had heard them many times—but because I was wearied by the unbelief of these people among whom I had spent so much time and whom I had come to care about.

I remember looking up into the night sky as we drove on and seeing it filled with stars. We almost never saw the stars because they were obscured by the city lights or by clouds. However, we were now far from the city, ­traveling through the Vosges Mountains, and the skies were clear. As I gazed upon the night sky, I had this overwhelming impression that God was in His heaven and was in control. I commented on this to my companion, wondering how anyone could look up into the night sky and not feel the same thing.

I was in this same state of mind when we arrived in Strasbourg around midnight. We apologized to our missionary hosts for the late arrival and laid out our bedding, which consisted of a foam pad and a sleeping bag for each of us on the floor. I knelt on mine to pray, as was my nightly routine. However, this prayer turned out to be anything but routine. As I prayed, I thought of the events and emotions of that night, and I pleaded, “Dear Father, I need to know if you are really there if I am going to continue in this work among such an unbelieving people.”

As soon as that phrase formed in my mind, I was enveloped by an intense spiritual energy that pulsed through my body from my head to my toes and settled upon me. It was a warm, comforting feeling that stayed with me for a long time. It was the witness of the Holy Spirit to me that God was there and that He had heard my prayer. I finished praying and lay down to sleep, but the feeling would not go away. I lay basking in this powerful yet sweet sensation for some time until it slowly ­dissipated and I drifted off to sleep.

Since then I have never doubted the existence of God. I know He answered me. More than thirty years later that experience is still vivid in my mind. I do not know how the Spirit of God interfaces with our mortal physiology, but it is powerful and unlike any other ­emotion. It cannot be explained away.

Perhaps my growing realization about a more productive learning relationship with Heavenly Father is what made me so impressed with President Marion G. Romney’s biography written by F. Burton Howard. President Romney, who served as a counselor to President Spencer W. Kimball, is a wonderful example of someone who asks faithful questions. I particularly want to share an account of how President Romney responded when his wife, Ida, suffered a stroke in early 1967. She lay in the hospital for weeks, giving no sign that she recognized President Romney when he visited.

During this period, following priesthood blessings, fasting, prayer, and, nevertheless, a continued worsening of Ida’s condition, President Romney’s response was one of great reticence to counsel the Lord. If his will was to take her, President Romney did not want to pray for something else. And yet he had said on numerous occasions about his wife, “She is the best part of me. I could never carry on alone” (F. Burton Howard, Marion G. Romney, His Life and Faith [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1988], p. 140).

He searched the scriptures and fasted to develop his faith and learn how to demonstrate it to the Lord. He didn’t directly ask the Lord to heal his wife, though this was never far from his heart. Rather, he worried whether he had the right to ask for this blessing. He observed that the Lord hadn’t healed President McKay, who was very ill. “He hasn’t healed others who are in as great a need as I,” he said. “Who am I to ask for a blessing? Why should the Lord answer my prayers?”

He struggled with this internal conflict for some time, continuing to read, to pray, and to fast. One evening, shortly after returning from a visit to Ida in the hospital, where he had found her unchanged, he went to the Book of Mormon and began to read. He read in the book of Helaman about the prophet Nephi, who had been falsely condemned as he sought to teach the people. A particular passage in this account touched his heart more than he had ever felt before. The scripture read:
Blessed art thou, Nephi, for those things which thou hast done; for I have beheld how thou hast with unwearyingness declared the word, which I have given unto thee, unto this people. And thou hast not feared them, and hast not sought thine own life, but hast sought my will, and to keep my commandments.
And now, because thou hast done this with such unwearyingness, behold, I will bless thee forever; and I will make thee mighty in word and in deed, in faith and in works; yea, even that all things shall be done unto thee according to thy word, for thou shalt not ask that which is contrary to my will. [Helaman 10:4–5]
President Romney felt personal confirmation that the Lord accepted him. He
knew that by refusing to ask a special favor without first ascertaining the will of the Lord, he had unknowingly demonstrated the quality of his faith. . . .
With awe, [President Romney] fell to his knees. The scripture was the direct answer to many prayers. More than anything else he wanted to know the Lord’s will for Ida. He was willing to let her go; or, if need be, he would care for her in whatever condition the Lord wanted her to be in. As he concluded his prayer with the phrase “Thy will be done,” he seemed to feel or hear a voice which said, “It is not contrary to my will that Ida be healed.” [Howard, Romney, pp. 141–142]
Quickly he put on his coat and tie and went to the hospital. Arriving there at 3:00 a.m., he entered her room and placed his hands upon her head. She didn’t move or give any sign of recognition. He then invoked the power of the priesthood and pronounced a simple blessing upon her, uttering the
incredible promise that she would recover her health and mental powers and yet perform a great mission upon the earth.
Even though he did not doubt, [President Romney] was astonished to see Ida’s eyes open as he concluded the blessing. He sat down on the bed and listened to her frail voice ask, “For goodness’ sakes, Marion, what are you doing here?” In total surprise he responded, “Ida, how are you?” With a flash of humor which showed that she was not totally unaware of her circumstances, Ida Romney replied, “Compared to what, Marion? Compared to what?” [p. 142]
Thereafter, Ida recovered fully and miraculously.

Seventeen years ago today, during the Sunday afternoon session of general conference, I responded to President Hinckley’s assignment that I represent the six newly called Seventy in accepting our calls. As I awaited my turn at the midpoint of the session, I stood between two great Apostles: Elders Marvin J. Ashton and Bruce R. McConkie. I felt their love and support as I gazed with no little trepidation at the congregation of Saints gathered in the Tabernacle. Incidentally, we’re four times greater today. Elder Ashton, sensing my feelings, whispered, “I know it’s an awesome sight, but they’re all your friends.” As I stood that first time to speak, I felt the love of the Saints washing over me. Since then, in all the places to which worldwide assignments have taken us, Shirley and I have felt that same love and tried to return it.

When I found out that our stake was going to produce a musical show I was filled with the desire to participate. I had been in many plays, but since becoming totally blind three years earlier, I had neglected my love of amateur acting. I was afraid that the directors would never use a blind actress, and I wondered if I would be able to handle the complex stage movements. But my desires overcame my fears, and I auditioned for a part in the show.
The audition went well, but even my very supportive husband warned me not to get too hopeful. To my surprise, I not only got the part I wanted, but one of the directors hadn’t even realized I was blind! Had I let my fears keep me from trying, I would have missed one of the most delightful experiences of my life.

I was asked during a difficult pregnancy if I wanted to mentor a refugee single mother. And even though I am both a refugee and was for a time a single mother, I am embarrassed to admit that I said I couldn’t serve as a mentor. But this refusal didn’t sit well in my heart. The Spirit told me loud and clear that I had made the wrong decision. It took two months, but I repented, and by divine providence I was still able to be this woman’s mentor.

My new friend’s name was Speratha. I remember the very first time I met her. I walked into her simple apartment, and it was clean but entirely empty. She had no mattress or table or even a chair inside. As we sat on the floor to get to know each other, I learned that she had lost almost her entire family in the genocide in Rwanda. I will never forget what happened next. The Spirit brought to my mind my own empty apartment growing up. You see, when my family immigrated from Iran to the U.S., we initially planned to stay for only one year, but our decision to join the Church caused us to decide to remain permanently. Leaving an established life in Iran for the freedoms of America came with challenges, including, for a time, a lack of furniture. So when I saw Speratha’s empty apartment, I felt a kinship with her and remembered driving around with my parents looking for mattresses and furniture people had discarded on the side of the road that we could bring home.

At this very moment when my childhood flashed before my eyes, the Spirit whispered to my heart, “She is your sister,” and I felt a profound, instant love for her that I know could have only come from God. I remembered in that moment that we had also escaped a fraught political environment and were “brought by the hand of the Lord” to America24 and that once we were here, we were blessed by disciples of Christ who opened their hearts to us. I decided at that moment that Speratha was my sister, and I told her that.25

Speratha felt her Savior’s love through people who loved her and helped fill her home with furniture and her kitchen with essentials. Over the years this outpouring of love lifted her spirits and gave her a new family. During the pandemic, I worried she could not feel our love and support, and I was prompted that her heart would need a lasting, more perfect love. So I anonymously signed her up for Mutual, the dating app. Just kidding. I reached out to the missionaries and referred them to teach her about Jesus Christ. After seven months of study and prayer, Speratha decided to get baptized. Her heart was changed as she became a disciple of Christ. This was made possible because I repented and the love of God filled my heart—and then hers.26

While serving in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple as a full-time temple ordinance worker, I had the opportunity to share my lodging with a young sister missionary. Sister Kassah was serving in the Madagascar mission when she experienced some health challenges. She was then brought to South Africa for medical observation and treatment.
I was staying in a flat that was meant to house three single sisters serving in the temple, but at that time I was staying there by myself.
Upon her arrival—on a Saturday—Sister Kassah was understandably tired from travelling and from her health condition. I immediately assumed the role of a hostess and mother, tending to all her needs as if a guest in my home. I made a bed for her and prepared a meal for the both of us.
Prior to her arrival I often walked to the nearby shopping mall on Saturdays to get my supplies for the following week. What amazement it was for me on that Saturday afternoon, for as I prepared to leave for shopping, I received an immediate lesson from my guest. She told me that for as long as she was in my home, I was not to go anywhere without her.
And thus, an immediate change of roles occurred as she gently reminded me that I had become her companion and that we were to follow the prescribed missionary rules.
In an instant, my guest had become my trainer—overseeing, as it were, my compliance to the missionary rules.
In an instant, I became an obedient missionary companion.
In an instant, I developed an appreciation for my new circumstances.
In an instant, I developed a love for my new companion.
Sister Kassah was of the age of my own children. Oh, how I would have loved to mother her and take the lead and instruct her on how things were going to be done in my home. But it soon became evident that this was not going to be the case—for personified for me was the following scripture, “and a little child shall lead them” (2 Nephi 21:6).
We counselled together and I was further apprised of our daily program in this our combined home, with special attention to our need as companions to pray together and to hold scripture study.
In my previous circumstance I did my scripture study as and when I was awake; but now I had to abide by mission rules to awake at a certain time and have scripture study with my companion at the appointed time.
I am truly able to say that I did enjoy these new circumstances as my “daughter” companion, and I shared lessons each day. An added measure of the Spirit of the Lord was brought into our home, and a great bond of love and friendship was formed. (Another memorable aspect of this time was being able to enjoy sister Kassah’s cooking from West Africa!) And truly the seven days that we spent together came and passed by all too quickly.
As Sister Kassah departed, I held onto the promise found in Doctrine and Covenants 130:2, which says, “And that same sociality which exists among us here will exist among us there, only it will be coupled with eternal glory, which glory we do not now enjoy”.
The bond of love and the circle of friendship and sisterhood, plus the sociality spoken of, includes Sister Kassah and myself—and I now rejoice to call her a true mother, and also a friend.
I know that missionaries are truly servants of the Lord and are called to the work of the ministry. It was my privilege to be ministered by such a one.
I know that friendship is an eternal principle, and still rejoice in that choice time I was given to be a missionary companion for seven days.

I remember the first thing that was ever put into my testimony box.

When I was eight years old, I was baptized. I was baptized on my eighth birthday. My dad baptized me. I don’t remember much, but I do remember a few things. I remember how the water pressure made the baptism jumper stick to my body like glue. I remember how diligently I had practiced where I put my hand so that when my dad put his arm out, I wouldn’t fumble but could confidently put my hand out. I had practiced in the bathtub for many weeks holding my breath so that I could stay underwater the whole time. I walked into the font with confidence. I put my hand out for my dad, who lovingly touched it and guided it into place. I was nervous. I remember closing my eyes so that I would be the most reverent I had ever been. The next thing I heard was “Jesus Christ,” and then I was lowered under the water. The water was warm and washed over me.

When I stood up and wiped my eyes, I saw my dad standing next to me. He hugged me. I felt different, and I felt the same. I felt both new and old. But I knew that I just made a promise that made God happy. I was so proud of myself. Soon after, I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost and knew I felt different. This experience was the first thing I put in my testimony box; I feel safe when I follow God’s direction. I feel loved, and I feel whole. Baptism was essential for me.

I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but soon I would have two! Mom was going to have twins. Dad packed up the things in our extra bedroom and hauled them to the basement. Then he put together two cribs, one on each side of the room. Grandma and Mom made two quilts, one blue and one yellow. Sometimes I practiced setting the table for five instead of three. Everything was ready—all we had to do was wait. Mom told me that when the leaves started changing and the air got cooler, I’d know that my brothers would be born soon.
But one summer morning, I found my mom sitting next to the bathtub. She was holding her stomach and crying.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. I was scared.
“It’s not time for the babies to be born yet, but they’re coming,” she said.
Dad took Mom to the hospital while Grandma stayed with me. Usually Grandma would take me somewhere fun, like the zoo or the state capitol building. But not today.
Finally, the call from the hospital came. Grandma told me that I had two new brothers, Aaron and Carl. “Tomorrow I’ll take you to see them,” she said.
I couldn’t wait! “Do they have red hair, like me?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Grandma said. She told me that they wouldn’t look like other babies I had seen because they were born three months early. Their skin was very delicate, and they were less than half the size of most newborn babies.
“Will we see Mom at the hospital?” I asked.
“No. Mommy is resting at a different hospital,” Grandma said. “The twins are so weak that as soon as they were born, they rode in a helicopter to another hospital.” She said that Dad and Grandpa had given them a priesthood blessing so that they could be strong.
Before bed, I prayed for my brothers. Then I dreamed. Would Mom let me help tuck them into bed at night? When they were older, would they play with me in the backyard? Part of me was worried. Would I be left out because there were two of them and only one of me?
The next morning, Grandma looked sad.
“Can we go to the hospital now?” I begged.
“Yes, honey, we can go see Carl,” Grandma said, “but Aaron died last night. His little lungs weren’t strong enough to keep breathing.”
I couldn’t believe it. My brother had died?
“I’m sorry I didn’t take you to see him yesterday,” Grandma said.
I frowned. I thought Dad gave Carl and Aaron blessings so they could be strong. I had learned in Primary that not all prayers are answered the way we want, but I wondered why not. Whenever I was sick and Dad gave me blessings, I felt better. I wanted my brothers to get better too.
I sadly peered out the window as Grandma drove to the hospital. When we got there, Dad met us. A nurse helped me tie a mask over my mouth and nose. She washed my hands and fingernails with a scrub brush, then let us in to meet Carl.
“There’s your new brother,” Dad said. Carl was covered by a clear box. He was teeny and red. Tubes were in his mouth and needles were in his arms.
“What are they doing to him?” I croaked. “Why is he in there?”
“So he can stay warm,” Dad said. “The tubes are to help him breathe, and the needles give him food.” Then Dad opened a little circle-shaped door on the side of the box. “Go ahead. Touch him.”
I was afraid to. Carl barely seemed alive, and I didn’t want to hurt him.
“It’s OK,” Dad whispered, so I reached through the little door and brushed Carl’s hand with my finger. His little hand curled around my finger. I giggled. He squeezed so tight!
“He won’t let go!” I laughed. Dad smiled. Carl’s hand barely reached around my finger, but I couldn’t pull it away. His grip was too strong.
“Dad’s priesthood blessing worked,” I thought. Carl didn’t look very strong, but he was. Many weeks later, Carl came home to live with us.
It was sad to watch Dad take apart the second crib and move it out of Carl’s room. Sometimes I felt sad that I would never set five places at the table. But Mom and Dad told me to remember that Aaron was still a part of our family, even if he couldn’t be with us now. Someday we would all be resurrected, and we could be an eternal family.
Until then, Mom said we could make Aaron a part of our lives if we remembered him. She made a page in our Book of Remembrance for him and saved a piece of paper with his tiny ink footprints on it. She also saved a piece of his hair. It’s red, just like mine.

My understanding grew rapidly, but soon my father intervened. He didn’t like the idea of me investigating a “new” church. My parents were separated, and no one knew where my mother was, but I felt obligated to honor my father’s wishes, at least until I was no longer a minor. My contact with the Saints as a group dropped off somewhat, but I knew in my heart that someday I would be baptized.
My oldest cousin went into the army, and then he left on a mission. During the two years he was gone, I kept thinking about the feelings I had felt. I always had a testimony of Joseph Smith, right from the start. His story seemed so logical, and the confirmation of the Spirit came so quickly that I couldn’t ignore it. When my cousin returned from his mission, I met him in Montélimar, and we rode together back to Antibes (near Nice), which is my hometown. All the way there we talked about the Church, and I accepted many new ideas.
The Lord also had something else in mind to help me. I was in agricultural school in Lyons at the time, and when I returned to my studies, I arranged to do some field study for three months in Aix-en-Provence. There, with my cousin, I heard all of the missionary discussions thoroughly, and the small testimony inside me became a big one. I was baptized on July 26, 1975, and I still feel as strongly today as I did then that Joseph Smith was and is a prophet of God.
I am thankful that I was able to see the gospel in action in my aunt’s home. Their example combined with the witness of the Spirit to let me know that the Lord has built a program for families that I want to follow.

“This is going to be great!” Sterling said as he looked out the truck window. The sun was just rising over the horizon. The range stretched as far as he could see, full of sagebrush, a few twisted cedar trees, and one lonely cabin.
“Yeah!” his friend Glen said back. “I can’t wait to ride the range with Marcus.”
“And eat his famous sourdough biscuits,” Sterling said.
Sterling’s dad drove up to the cabin and parked the truck. He was dropping them off to help Marcus with their families’ cattle. The boys ran to the cabin as the 70-year-old cowherder walked out, smiling big. A cowboy hat covered his head.
“Here are my cowhands!” Marcus said. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it. I’m sure glad to see you.” Marcus spoke a few minutes with Sterling’s dad, then waved as the dust settled behind the truck.
Marcus fed them breakfast—delicious sourdough biscuits, eggs, and bacon. Then they saddled their horses and began riding the range, looking for cattle who were wandering. They set out big blocks of salt for the cattle to lick so they would be healthy.
After lunch they rode under the cloudless sky to a far corner of the range. It was hot and dusty, so Marcus led them to a spring of water to have a drink and cool off. Soon they were ready to get back to work.
But as Marcus swung his leg over his horse, his sharp spurs accidentally hit the horse under the tail. The horse bucked and threw Marcus to the ground on top of a big rock. Marcus screamed in pain.
“Marcus!” yelled Glen.
“Are you OK?” said Sterling.
“I can’t move,” Marcus moaned. Then his eyes closed. He had passed out!
The boys looked at each other, eyes wide. “What should we do?” said Sterling.
“We need to find someone to help us,” said Glen. “He needs a doctor.”
Sterling and Glen were scared. They were miles away from other people and didn’t have phones to call for help. They didn’t even know exactly where they were.
“I’ll be right back,” Sterling said. He walked around a pile of rocks, knelt in the dirt, and bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, Marcus is really hurt, and we don’t know how to help. Please let me know what to do.”
Sterling heard a clear voice in his head. Ride north.
He hurried back to Glen and Marcus. “I’m going to find help,” he said to Glen. “You stay here with Marcus.” Glen looked relieved.
Sterling climbed on his horse and started riding north. After about an hour of nothing but sky and sagebrush, he saw a cloud of dust in the distance. A truck was coming slowly across the range. Sterling galloped to the truck and waved it down. It was two sheepherders looking for their lost sheep!
Sterling told them about Marcus. The sheepherders knew where the spring was and drove right to Marcus and Glen. They carefully lifted Marcus into the back of the truck and drove him to the hospital. Sterling and Glen took the horses back to Marcus’s cabin and waited for their parents to pick them up.
“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Sterling prayed quietly. “Thank you for helping us help Marcus.”
A few months later, Sterling saw Marcus after his broken bones had healed. “There’s my brave, smart cowhand!” Marcus said. “Thanks for saving my life with your quick thinking.”
Sterling smiled. He was glad Marcus was OK. “It wasn’t me,” he said. “I was just following Heavenly Father’s directions.”

Not everything was dark during this time though. I felt a lot of love from my Father in Heaven, my family, and my Church leaders. What helped me heal and move forward after the accident was doing simple things that strengthened my faith. Every day I spent an hour before going to bed reading the scriptures, praying, and writing in my journal in my closet. In the privacy of my closet, I didn’t have to be strong for my siblings. I could cry as much as I needed and pour out my heart to God. I told Him exactly what I was feeling and how much I missed my mom. I know He heard me because of the many tender mercies I felt. That closet space became sacred to me.
Doing those simple things helped me stay connected to God instead of pushing Him away and becoming bitter. I didn’t see the accident as God hurting my family. I felt more power to be patient and submit to His will and keep moving forward through my hard days. And there were some really hard days.

Miguel’s entire family loves their country, and each year they do a special service project for their community. Last year they received permission to paint Miguel’s school classroom during a two-week break. First they painted the room all white. Then they painted the ocean on the walls with whales and sunken ships and all sorts of fish. The class was really excited when they saw it. Miguel’s teacher helps the students learn their colors, counting, and sizes using the colorful walls.

I close with the example of a new friend, someone we met a few weeks ago while visiting the Zambia Lusaka Mission.
Elder Joseph Ssengooba is from Uganda. His father died when he was seven. At age nine, with his mother and relatives unable to care for him, he was on his own. At age 12, he met the missionaries and was baptized.
Joseph told me of his first day at church: “After sacrament meeting, I thought it was time to go home, but the missionaries introduced me to Joshua Walusimbi. Joshua told me that he was going to be my friend, and he handed me a Children’s Songbook so I wouldn’t have to go into Primary empty-handed. In Primary, Joshua put an extra chair right next to his. The Primary president invited me to the front and asked the whole Primary to sing for me ‘I Am a Child of God.’ I felt very special.”
The branch president took Joseph to the Pierre Mungoza family, and that became his home for the next four years.
Eight years later when Elder Joseph Ssengooba began his mission, to his great surprise his trainer was Elder Joshua Walusimbi, the boy who had made him feel so welcome on his first day in Primary. And his mission president? He is President Leif Erickson, the little boy who stayed away from Primary because he was terrified about giving a talk. God loves His children.

As I left the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, USA, I had a very long flight ahead of me, with three layovers before I would finally arrive in my mission in Recife, Brazil. When I landed in Rio de Janeiro for the last leg of my journey, I missed my flight. It was rebooked, but I was left with a 14-hour wait in a country I had never been in before, and I couldn’t say much in Portuguese.
Hours passed as I sat there feeling lonely, forgotten, and tired from all the flights. As I began to cry, a voice said to me, “Elder, pray!” I prayed for help harder than I ever had before. As I said “Amen,” I heard a man sitting directly behind me speaking English. I turned and tapped his shoulder. The man was a returned missionary from South Africa who was fluent in both English and Portuguese. We got something to eat together, and he helped me communicate with my mission president. He helped strengthen my testimony that God will never forget His children! I felt His love that day, and I can truly testify that He hears our prayers.
Sione T., Oregon, USA